The Price of Victory
by FallingThroughSpaceAndTime
Summary: Sometimes it was skill. Sometimes it was charm, or tactics, or the adrenaline. Sometimes it was just luck. But, whatever it was that got them out of the arena, seventy five made it back.
1. Tiberius

1st Hunger Games

Victor: Tiberius

Age: 17

Gender: Male

District: 2

Tiberius had been confused and (although he would never admit it) quite scared when his name had come out of that reaping bowl. Of all people, he had remained loyal to the Capitol, even serving as a Peacekeeper to help squash the rebellion in the outer districts, despite his young age. He'd assumed that he would be safe from the Games, at least for the two years he was actually eligible. The Games had been set up to punish rebels, and those who did not fight- after all, neutrality was treason. Not loyal citizens! Nevertheless, he dutifully took his place on the stage, flashing a tight smile at the cameras. He had already vowed to do whatever it took to win when his mother pulled him aside, informing him of the Capitol's motive.

"They couldn't give riches and a life of luxury to one of those rebel's brats, now, could they? No, the Capitol needs a poster boy, a true loyal citizen to make Panem see the glory of the Games. Do me proud." And with that she left him, slightly bewildered (he wasn't the brightest bulb) but eager, lusting for blood, fame and glory.

His district partner (Livia, if he remembered correctly) had cried the whole train journey, curled in a ball and shouting for her mother. Tiberius had felt a sliver of pity for her then, alone, helpless and scared. And then he remembered she was almost definitely the daughter of a rebel, and the feeling disappeared. Their escort had told them they would be fine, as long as they stuck together and fought with honour, courage and valour. As he watched Livia eating silently on the other side of the table, he swore that her death would be quick and painless.

He smiled slightly as he sat in the Viewing Room, watching the recaps of the reaping on the giant screen, secretly reassuring himself he could beat all of them easily. After all, he had trained as a Peacekeeper. He knew how to kill, whereas most of the other kids would be unprepared. He was a fighter; they were scared kids. The smile he wore slid off his face as the female from 5 was called, soon replaced by a scowl of hatred- Brites Hazaar. He knew that surname. That surname had been printed into his brain, along with the knowledge that _they_ had killed him. It had been all over the news. How a family from the Power District- going by the name 'Hazaar'- had blown up one of the biggest factories in Panem. How over two hundred people had perished, including seven peacekeepers from District Two. How the culprits had been caught and their children sent to the local Community Home. And now the oldest had been reaped for the Games, her escort not even attempting to hide the fact it was obviously a fix.

Boy, was Tiberius going to make her suffer. He would make her scream, beg for mercy, but her fate had already been carved in stone, he would kill her. He would tell her who he was, who his brother was, and what she'd done to him. And once, through her pained whimpers of defeat, she understood what he was saying, he would make her pay. Pay with her life, for what she had done to him.

Livia knew the name too. Beside him, her small body tensed, fists curling and uncurling against the soft fabric of the couch. He stood up abruptly and stormed out of the carriage, unwilling to allow the others to glimpse him at his weakest, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

It wasn't long until the train arrived in the Capitol, greeted by hoards of (in his opinion) rather garishly dressed Capitolians, cheering and fighting to catch a glimpse of the tributes- the first ever tributes- for the Hunger Games. Tiberius plastered a smile on his face, he looked out of the train window and waved to the crowd. At his side, Livia let out a small gasp, her expression one of pure wonderment, eyes slightly glazed over.

They were given one day of training, all twenty-four tributes together. Tiberius strode in ten minutes late, only to stop short three steps into the room. He was completely taken aback by the number of tributes either crying or throwing up. Livia was standing idly at the knife station with one of the other girls, probably the girl from One, who had worn a dress at the Reaping Ceremony which could no doubt have fed a small family from Twelve for a month. Maybe longer. _Pathetic_ , he thought, eyes skimming over his opponents.

Tiberius strutted in, heading straight for the sword station. He would have preferred a mace, but beggars can't be choosers, not that he was a 'beggar' per say. Carefully selecting a blade from the rack, he swung, slashing the training dummy and slicing it neatly in two. He was so caught up in the moment- the thrill of the attack- that he had failed to notice the deathly silence that had fallen. Even the snivelling mess that was the District Eight male had managed to temporarily compose himself. Well, compose probably wasn't the best choice of word; he was gaping, eyes bulging at the stuffing spilling out of the dummy and the sword resting in the palm of his hand. Tiberius couldn't help but smirk. He'd give them something to gawk at.

There was a parade that night. Each district had a carriage, and they were driven through the streets of the Capitol. The costumes were designed to reflect the district industries- Tiberius was dressed as a Roman Emperor, in something his stylist described as a toga, laced with gold and a crown of laurel leaves adorning his head. Livia stood beside him, her dress a beautiful, flowing purple streaked with red, her crown of flowers resting against her dark hair. She reached out and grabbed his hand, and for once he didn't shake it off. She would most likely be dead tomorrow anyway.

He couldn't sleep that night. He wasn't scared- at least that's what he kept telling himself. He could hear Livia's muffled sobs from the room next to his, and there was nothing he to stop the constant trembling of his body. It seemed like he had only just shut his eyes when his escort shook him awake.

The arena that year was a colosseum, small and confined, the floor a pale dusty white- to make the blood more visible. The weapons were piled in the centre, around a giant golden horn, and the audience was seated around the edge of the arena.

Tiberius took a quick glance at his fellow tributes- step 1, always assess your enemies. He could just see Livia, who was half hidden by the tail of the excessively large horn. And, to his surprise, she wasn't crying. She didn't even look sad; her face was determined and, strangely, he found himself hoping he wouldn't have to be the one to kill her. He found himself hoping somebody else would first.

Brites Hazaar stood three spaces to his left, her eyes set straight ahead. He followed her gaze and noted that her gaze was fixed on a sickle, which was obviously her preferred weapon of choice. He let his gaze wander, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted a mace. It was at the edge of the pile, closest to him. It was almost as if the Gamemakers had put it there on purpose.

"Welcome, welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the very first Annual Hunger Games!" came the booming voice of the President, "In mere hours, 23 of these Tributes will have fallen, one of them will have triumphed, and will be bathed in riches and glory. However, first they must prove their worth. Let the countdown for the Games… BEGIN!"

From somewhere in the stands, a countdown from sixty began. Soon it became a chant, echoing through the crowd as more and more bloodthirsty Capitolians joined in. _Oh God_ , Tiberius thought, _here we go._

Fifty, forty nine, forty eight… Tiberius took a deep breath and flexed his muscles, doing his best to look threatening. There was no risk. He could easily outrun these kids- most of them were crying anyway- but he knew Brites was both dangerous and fast and that if couldn't beat her to the horn (or at least to the mace) his chances of winning could be seriously compromised.

Thirty six, thirty five, thirty four… He looked across the arena and caught Livia's eye. She gave him a timid smile, and he sent a small one back. Her posture was confident to the point of cockiness, but her eyes, even from a distance, showed immeasurable fear. She was obviously trying out a tactic their escort had told them about- appear self-assured because everyone will go for the weak ones first. But in his opinion, she was doing a pretty terrible job of it.

Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen… He wondered what would happen to him if he stepped off his pedestal too early. No one had really been clear about that. Perhaps there were mines under the ground that would blow him sky high. He almost laughed- then again, maybe he should suggest it if- _when_ \- he got out of the arena.

Three, two, one… A gong sounded from the other side of the arena. Tiberius flew off his pedestal, and landed on the ground with a thud, allowing both the momentum and adrenaline to carry him forward as he sprinted toward the horn. Most tributes hadn't moved, he noticed, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brites mere seconds behind him.

He skidded to a halt and picked up two maces, feeling instantly safer once they were in his hand. Brites had already armed herself with a sickle, and by the time Tiberius turned to face her, she was putting a knife in her belt. He braced himself for the battle that was sure to come, but was surprised when she said-

"I'll stay here and watch the tail. You go and guard the mouth." It took him a moment to realise she was talking about the horn. He looked at her, confused, until it hit him that, just like she was the only thing standing in the way of him going home, he was all that stopped her doing the same. And, if it was just him alone, he wouldn't be so much of a threat. He hesitated for only a second, before nodding and running around to the opening of the horn. It was one of those escape plans which could keep you alive about thirty minutes longer.

For ten long minutes no one moved. Brites stayed by the tail, Tiberius remained at the mouth, and not one tribute stepped off their pedestal. The crowd was growing evermore restless. People were screaming, hissing and yelling at the tributes, urging them to actually _do_ something. _Just one_ , Tiberius thought. _Just one tribute to set all the others off._ In the end, it was the boy from Four who broke first.

He leapt off his pedestal, his district partner screaming his name, and ran at full speed towards the horn. He went straight for a knife, and clutching it, he turned towards the other tributes. Tiberius gritted his teeth and stepped forwards. He coughed slightly, gaining the boy's attention, who realised what was about to happen just half a second two late. The mace glinted in the sun as it whipped through the air, knocking the poor boy's head clean off his shoulders. Shock registered in his eyes for the briefest moment before his head fell and skidded across the arena, stopping at the feet of the boy from Eight. Tiberius remembered him from training- he had been a sobbing mess and looked two seconds away from fainting. The audience was silent for a second, before erupting into cheers.

Miles away, in District Four, a woman choked back a sob as she tied a simple noose in a length of rope with her quick, deft fingers. Tears were streaming down her face, eyes fixed on her son's lifeless form displayed on the screen in her house. The boy from Four went down in history as Hunger Games Death #0001.

 _One down, twenty two to go,_ Tiberius thought grimly as he wiped the blood off his mace, and, just as he had hoped, the boy's death caused the reality of the situation to sink in. Almost simultaneously, half the tributes jumped off their pedestals, all making the mad dash to the horn. He could hear Brites cynical laughter behind him, but she didn't matter. All that mattered was that he killed, he killed, he _killed_. He killed the girl from Six, the boy from Ten, the pair from Seven.

He found the boy from Eight hiding behind a stack of knives. His tear-stained face was twisted with fear and his hands were scrabbling for a knife, a sword, anything to protect himself. Dropping his blood coated mace, he lunged for the boy, grabbing around the throat and pulling him up. Tiberius shoved him against the side of the horn and started to squeeze. Eight's face began to go blue, then purple, and then an odd shade of black. His features were contorted, and Tiberius knew the boy couldn't last much longer. That's why it came as such a shock when the boy managed to lean forward and bite him. His teeth were surprisingly sharp, and cut through the first few layers of skin. Tiberius pulled the boy's head forward and smashed it back, his skull crumpling, his body going instantly numb.

Wiping his hands, he looked around, counting. Five of them left. No, six, that girl was still moving. He walked over to her (District Nine, he thought, although it was a little hard to read the number emblazed on her front, mainly because it was coated in a thick layer of blood).

"Please, please don't hurt me," she whimpered, sobbing. He smiled sadly.

"I'm getting tired, and there's still another four left to kill." And with that, he plunged a knife from a nearby pile straight into her heart, ending her life instantly.

Just five of them left. Four more kills. Two were on Brites' side- he'd let her take them. One was on his side, still shaking on her pedestal. He ran to the mouth of the horn, and carefully selected a knife with a long, silver blade. He tested its weight in his hand, before holding it up and, with a swift flick of his wrist, he let it fly. It buried itself in the girl's chest, who stared at in shock for a while, before toppling backwards off her pedestal.

"Oi, Two!" A shout came from behind him. _Here we are. The final battle._ He slowly made his way around the horn, kicking aside the bodies of his victims. Brites came into view, her blonde hair stained bright scarlet by the blood of her victims. He took in the corpses around her. Not as many as he had taken down, but still quite impressive. His eyes caught sight of a small body with dark hair, and he clutched his mace tighter.

"You killed Livia," he stated bluntly.

"Yes," Her answer was cold and mocking. "Don't tell me you cared for her, Two?"

"No," He shook himself. "No."

"Well, come on them, let's end this." She pounced at him, but Tiberius was bigger, stronger and marginally faster. Metal clashed on metal as they fought.

"You can't win this, District Two," She panted, out of breath.

"Oh yeah?" He taunted her, jumping just in range of her sword before dancing back again. "I've got twelve kills up my sleeve, what have you got?"

"I just want to go home," He was startled by the tears glistening in her eyes.

"You and me both, Five," He whispered. And then he charged at her, picking her up and slamming her against the walls of the horn. Surprised by his brute strength, she dropped her weapon. "You and me both."

His mace came down on her head, once, twice, three times before she finally fell limp and he picked her lifeless body and tossed it aside.

The crowd went ballistic, the commentator sounded ecstatic.

"Congratulations to the Victor of the first ever Hunger Games, Tiberius Trinket, of District Two!"

He had done it.

One hour and thirty seven minutes.

Thirteen kills.

He had won.

 _AN: Any reviews would be really appreciated! Please don't flame, but constructive criticism would be really helpful. Also, for anyone who spotted the link with Effie, all will be explained in later chapters._


	2. Adonis

2nd Hunger Games

Victor: Adonis

Age: 18

Gender: Male

District: 1

"Maia…" Adonis whispers in my ear, his hand gently stroking my hair. "It's going to be fine. _I'm_ going to be fine." He lifts his trembling hand to wipe away my tears.

"Come home," I beg. "Do anything you can, we won't look at you any different. Whatever it takes, please, just come home to us!" His eyes scan the room- Mom and Dad, sitting on the small couch in District One's Justice Building. Amasis, perched next to me on the overstuffed armchair. Kasen, standing by the window, his face dark, his eyes full of tears that his pride will prevent from ever falling. Adonis gives my hand a squeeze and goes to kneel in from of Amasis.

"Listen, Ama," He breathes. "I promise I'll try. I'll try to come home to you, but _if_ I don't-" Amasis lets out a sob and buries his head in Adonis' shoulder. "If I don't, you'll be fine. You know that, don't you, Ama? You'll move on, and in time you'll forget. But that's okay. It's okay, I don't mind."

"No!" Amasis sobs. "You can win. You can come home. You will win, Adonis!" my brother laughs, but it's a hollow, empty sound. He ruffles Amasis' unruly hair and turns to Kasen.

"You look after them." He murmurs, barely loud enough for me to make out. "You look after them when I'm gone." Kasen turns around and kicks him in the shin.

"Don't talk like that." He hisses, "If you say it, it'll come true,"

"Come on, Kasen," Adonis lowers his voice. "I'm not coming home; it's not a nice thing to say, but we both know it's true. You have to take care of Maia and Ama, now, come on. For me. Please. You know how terrible Mom and Dad are at that."

"You will make it back, I know it," Kasen spits out venomously, but his voice cracks a bit. I think he realises that it's probably the last time he'll ever see his older brother again and he relents and throws his arms around him, refusing to let go until the Peacekeepers show up and forcibly remove us from the building.

"Good luck," I turn and whisper to the empty building before us, my breath catching in my throat. Even as I say it, I know it's too late, he's already gone- on his way to the Capitol, on his way to slaughter. I'll never see my brother again.

…

It's been a few long, hard days since we've seen Adonis. Everyone is pretending it didn't happen, that nothing has changed. I keep on getting these sad smiles, from everyone who knows us. The smiles that know that Adonis' chances of coming back are next to none. It's not that we did anything _wrong_ during the rebellion, it's just that we didn't do anything _right_. After all, neutrality is treason.

The only person who has said anything outright was Clos in morning lessons yesterday. He put his clammy hand on my shoulder (which was a bit uncomfortable but also oddly nice) and smiled and said that he was sure Adonis could make it. I still can't help but agree. If anyone can do it, he can (despite the odds).

Mom says he'll be on the screen in a few minutes, like the parade last year. Our whole family is watching, eager to see the lights, the costumes, the colours, and, most of all, Adonis. There's a sense of something different in the air tonight though it's hard to describe, not fear or sadness (although that's here too), somehow more violent. Dad's hand looks just about ready to crush the glass of cheap beer clutched in his meaty hand, and Amasis' eye is twitching with what I can only assume is a thinly suppressed urge to punch one of the perky, jovial commentators nattering away on the screen.

"And here they come! The tributes of the 2nd Annual Hunger Games, led by the strapping pair from District One. My, Augusta, isn't Adonis handsome?"

"He certainly is! He'll no doubt be all the rage amongst the Capitol's teens!"

Adonis does look handsome, more so than usual- he's dressed from head to toe in gold and expensive looking jewels (well, the parts of him that actually are covered, since he isn't really wearing all that much). His district partner, Lucetta, is standing next to him on the chariot, her golden dress falling high above her knee. It's hardly appropriate, but it shows off her long, slender legs, which are no doubt already making her very popular with Capitol boys (and some girls, by the looks of things).

My body begins to relax as the pair from two come into view. They're nothing compared to Tiberius, not much even compared to Livia, but they do have the advantage of having a mentor. I hope Adonis remembers to keep an eye on them- they are the most likely to have the game makers on their side. Other than them, there are only a few tributes who look like they could be trouble.

Tomas, of District Six, is one of only two tributes from the outer districts who doesn't look liable to piss himself any minute. Instead, he looks just a few more cringe-worthy comments from Augusta and Flavius away from lunging at the nearest person (most likely his sobbing district partner) and throttling them. Plus, he has this dangerous looking design on his forearm (which has _got_ to be a gang tattoo) which his stylist _conveniently_ forgot to cover up.

The only other non-pants-wetting tribute is, surprisingly, Kasha, the girl from Eleven. She's wearing some sort of lilac satin dress. Unfortunately, her stylist was obviously expecting a smaller, daintier (malnourished?) girl- the dress was really not made for her 5"11, heavily muscled (though, admittedly rather attractive) frame. She's standing next to her district partner, who can't be much older than I am, which really makes her look just that little bit bigger.

The pair from ten are actually quite visually pleasing (or at least they would be if they didn't look like lambs surrounded by a pack of lions). Although how that would help them in the arena I have no idea.

The parade ends with a short speech from the President before the chariots turn and depart, taking Adonis with them. The national anthem plays in the background as the screen fades to black. I can't help but feel sad- further away from him, almost. It's stupid, I know, I mean I wasn't even looking at him half the time. But I know the next time I see him, he'll be fighting for his life in the arena.

…

"Maia, hurry up! Put on your dress, we're watching the Games, not meeting the President!" Kasen hollers up the stairs. I'm trying to pull the dress over my head but my hands are shaking and my eyes are threatening to spill over with tears. Adonis is about to step into the arena. In just a few minutes, he'll be slaughtering other innocent children. _Or being slaughtered by innocent children._ I can hear the opening bars of the national anthem. There's no more time to think about it. I yank on the dress and practically sprint down to the living room.

I arrive just as our national anthem finishes blaring around the room, taking a seat next to Ama. The two perky and (rather unfittingly) cheerful Capitol commentators appear on screen. Flavius must have deemed it fit to dye his hair a periwinkle blue sometime in the last twelve hours. Honest to God, he looks like one of those small blue people Grandpa used to talk about- smurps? Smurfs? Something like that. They chat for a few minutes, giggling and, _honestly_ , flirting, until Flavius turns the conversation to the Games.

"Now Augusta, we're just minutes from the beginning of the Second Annual Hunger Games, so who do you think has it in them to win this year?"

"Well, honestly, I think it could be anyone's year. District One look particularly strong, and so does the Six male, and Eleven's female, but Two obviously has a mentor, which will most likely prove to be very helpful. Like I said- anyone's year."

"I quite agree. Now, we will have our very first glimpse of the arena any minute now! Who's excited?" All at once, everyone is screaming. The Capitol is screaming in anticipation and joy, Mom is screaming in fear, Dad is screaming with violent passion and Amasis is screaming because everyone else is screaming. I want to scream but I can't- my mouth is open, but no sound escapes my lips. Kasen is crying. I've never seen him cry before.

"There it is!" Flavius shouts as the arena comes into view. "And isn't it just fantastic!" The horn this year is silver, filled with not just weapons but rucksacks, supplies, loaves of bread and thick jackets. Obviously the Gamemakers expect the Games to last longer this year. I think the tributes have realised that too. There will be no one remaining on their pedestals today. But it's the arena that draws my attention. I didn't think the Gamemakers could be so horrible. I suppose I should have known better.

A maze. Thick, black hedges, with the sun blocked out so the arena is in almost complete darkness, a low fog hanging over the ground, thin paths no doubt filled with traps and mutts left over from the Dark Days. Even with the capitol's state of the art technology, the screen is considerably darker than usual and the tributes quite hard to make out. I'd wager Adonis can barely see at all.

I quickly spot him, just four spaces to the left of Lucetta. I wonder if they've made an alliance. Amasis bursts into tears at the sight of our brother on screen. I pull him onto my lap, and am so busy comforting him, that I miss most of the countdown. When I look back, the gong is already sounding.

 _All twenty four tributes_ make the dash to the horn. No- twenty three. Well, that _was_ unfortunate, but I'm sure they were warned to stay away from the Eleven girl. Adonis reaches the horn first- he's always been a good runner, and he was on the cross country team at school for four years. He swings a rucksack onto his back and throws another to his district partner, who comes up behind him. He carefully chooses a selection of knives (well, blindly grabs the first ones he can find) and attaches them to his belt, before picking up a bow and arrows sat his feet.

The scene at the horn is rapidly becoming a bloodbath, with a bunch of untrained, frightened children swinging swords at each other, all desperate to survive. Kasen is shouting at the screen, yelling at Adonis to run, to _get the bloody hell out of there_. But he doesn't. He grabs an arrow from his quiver and ,within twenty seconds, it is burying itself in in the poor District Two boy's heart. I ignore Dad's glass shattering as he throws it across the room, cursing blindly. Lucetta is staring at Adonis in shock. Even as she gapes, he lets another arrow fly, Lucetta turning her head away, as the girl from Two collapses with it embedded in her skull.

Adonis drops the bow, his whole body visibly shaking, his eyes wide. Lucetta scoops it up, grabs his hand and runs, Adonis stumbling along after her. She has an amazing sense of direction, leading Adonis just past countless unsprung traps. They run for the best part of an hour, weaving their way through the labyrinth, until they both collapse in an exhausted heat.

...

"You didn't have to kill them," Lucetta sobs, panting and wiping sweat from her brow.

"This is the Hunger Games, Lucie, what did you expect?" He snaps. "Besides, you saw what happened last year. It was them or us. I couldn't let them get away- they were too much of a risk." He sighs, but his voice has broken and in the gloom I can spy tears running down his face. There is another smash as Dad destroys one of Mom's favourite china cups.

"What's in your bag?" She asks quietly, in a feeble attempt to change the subject. Luckily, Adonis goes a long with it, pulling the rucksack off his back to examine the contents.

"Erm… a flashlight, beef strips, a box of matches, a first aid kit… don't know why anyone'd need this spare pair of socks, but there you go… and another jacket. You?"

"Water bottle- half full- some crackers, rope, more matches, blanket… and some," she lifts a small bottle to her nose before sniffing, "Iodine?" She replies, rummaging through her own supplies. I can't help but notice there's hardly any food, and I just hope Lucie knows something about collecting safe drinking water.

...

It's well past midnight, and only after we witness the gruesome death of a poor tribute caught in a trap, when the game makers decide to spice things up a little. The two Sevens stumble upon Lucie and Adonis' sleeping forms. Dad swears loudly, and I shake Amasis awake with a strange sense of urgency. The boy has an axe, and the girl clutches her knife to her chest tightly.

"We don't have to kill them." She whispers. "We could just take the rucksacks and go." It's an odd time to say it, but I can't help but notice how lovely her hair looks. She must have done it herself. It's a pity- she could have been a fantastic hairdresser. Now she all she'll be is _yet another_ dead tribute; she's lacks the ruthlessness to win.

"You know we can't." The boy mumbles. "If we don't kill them now, we'll have to kill them later. Or worse, they'll kill us." The girl sighs, and reluctantly agrees.

"You do it then." She hisses. The axe is inches from Lucie's throat when a roar fills the silent night air and Adonis' knife plants an icy kiss between Seven's shoulder blades. He collapses onto the floor, twitching in agony, until his body goes limp. Adonis turns to the girl.

"Run," He snarls. "And don't you ever come near us again, you hear?" she turns and flees, tears pouring down her cheeks, disappearing into the depths of the maze.

"Thanks," Lucie whispers.

"No worries," Adonis replies. "But I've alerted everyone within a mile radius where we are…" He picks up his rucksack. "And again… RUN!"

They take off, running this way and that, crashing into walls and swearing at every dead end. It doesn't look much like running from death really. More like a child's game at a party. Racing to get out of the maze in the park, knowing your Mom will have an ice cream waiting for you when you finally do. And they're laughing. Laughing as Lucie splits her lip on the corner of a wall. Laughing as Adonis trips, sending his supplies everywhere. Laughing as they finally stop and sink to the ground. I don't know what caused the hysterics, but after sitting there for several minutes, they manage to pull themselves together.

...

"How many left?" Lucie asks, still breathing heavily.

"Six tributes died at the bloodbath…" Adonis hesitates. "One died last night… And then the boy from Seven. So sixteen left, I think." Of course they didn't know about the girl from 10 who had been stuck in a snare, her beautiful face contorted with pain and stained with tears as she had bled to death, her district partner unable to do anything other than to cradle her head and hold her as she died.

"You want to take first watch?" Lucetta asks, and when he nods, she curls up under her blanket and quickly falls fast asleep. Adonis watches her for several long minutes, and, just for a moment, I think he's going to kill her. He has this look in his eyes which I don't recognise, but it makes me feel uneasy.

But of course he doesn't, and after four hours, he shakes her awake and he falls asleep himself.

…

We're now three days into the Games, and twelve tributes remain. The Fours and the Threes had a pretty decent alliance until yesterday when Marena cracked and lunged at Bolt's throat, getting both her and her district partner killed. The Threes were surprisingly brutal, even if Bolt had sobbed about it for a good half an hour afterwards. Both tributes from Five and the girl from Six were killed in the middle of the night by a giant fire breathing mutt- I'm slightly worried that the boy from Six (Tomas) is still alive after breaking off and trying to make it alone.

The girls from Eight, Nine and Twelve are all in pretty bad shape- Eight was badly injured at the bloodbath and, although she got away, is slowly bleeding out. Nine made it halfway to the Cornucopia before panicking and sprinting away with nothing; she hasn't drank or eaten anything in three days and she's wasted her energy attempting to climb the walls of the maze. I doubt she'll see the sun set tonight. Twelve was left without her district partner after the bloodbath and she had a particularly nasty experience with the girl from Eleven last night. She barely escaped with her life and, unless she manages to fix her broken leg within the next hour, is an easy target for anyone who stumbles upon her- especially a bloodthirsty mutt.

The boy from 10 hasn't moved from the body of his dead district partner in the past two days. His face has stayed completely blank, apart from his mild screaming fits, and yesterday Flavius was speculating that he is most likely be suffering from shock and post-traumatic stress. Honestly, I think he'll be gone before too long as well- he just seems _broken_. The boy from Nine has completely gone of the radar and is most likely lying dehydrated beneath some undergrowth.

The only real risks are the duo from Three, Tomas from Six, Kasha from Eleven and ,possibly, the girl from Seven.

...

After Lucetta figured out how to use the Iodine (which I think is actually Iodine Tincture Solution) to purify some water from a small pond Adonis found on the second day, they've been doing great. That's why it's such a shock that Kasha found them. Everyone is crowded around the screen again, Dad with a bottle of whisky by his chair, Kasen with bags under his eyes from the worrying and lack of sleep, and Mom shaking like a leaf, her handkerchief in hand.

It was Lucetta who gave them away; Adonis had managed to ambush a some sleeping piglets with a huge metal teeth and tusks (which is odd because I don't think mutts need to sleep) and she had lit a camp fire to roast it under the cover of the thick fog. She hadn't ,however, noticed when the fog had moved on and the smoke had started climbing high into the sky. In the gloom of the maze, and without the cover of the fog, the camp fire stuck out like a sore thumb and Adonis was sound asleep. No one was there to tell her to _put the damn fire out_. So it had shone out like a beacon into the night, alerting the attention of the girl from Eleven.

Lucetta hasn't noticed her yet; she's sneaking up behind her, hiding in the shadows, silent as a mouse. If Adonis could hear our screams then he's be up in an instant. Dad isn't even making any sense any more; he's just a ball of rage and fear, spewing out curses faster than he can think of them. Kasen's face has gone pale as a sheet and, by contrast, Mom is on her feet, yelling at the screen, her words punctuated by sobs. Amasis is sobbing into my arm and I'm just screaming.

"ADONIS WAKE UP!" he can't hear me. He's going to _die_. Kasha is only three steps away from Lucetta- seconds away from snapping her neck.

Just as Kasha begins reaching out to Lucetta, a bone-chilling _screech_ rings out, from the darkness. Hearing the ghastly wail Adonis leaps up, his bow and arrows already in his hands, startled. Lucetta spins around, grabbing her knife and coming face to face with the startled Eleven girl. Before either one has a chance to react, a gigantic, furious wild boar charges out from the depths of the maze.

Everything is happening so fast- Eleven turns and charges at the boar, a knife in her hands, letting out a furious battle cry as she flies towards it. Lucetta is still shocked, reeling from her near death experience, before she hurls one of her knives at the mutt, hitting its stomach. Undeterred, it continued charging for the camp, flinging Kasha aside. Adonis sends an arrow, striking it in its eye . Another one soon embeds itself in the boar's leg but it just keeps on coming.

The mutt is only twenty meters away from Lucetta now; if it reaches her its metal tusks will tear right through her body. Suddenly, Eleven is on top of it, shoving her knife into its skull, killing it instantly and spraying her with blood and (what I can only assume is) bits of brain.

Before Lucetta has time to recompose herself, Kasha is on top of her smashing her head against the ground, her knife still stuck in the mutt's skull. It only takes one arrow from Adonis, hitting her right between the eyes to finish her off. Kasha slumps backwards, any hope of her going home to District Eleven destroyed, her family no doubt distraught with the knowledge that she _could've made it_ if the mutt hadn't come after the Ones.

...

For a second, I'm not sure what had happened- only a minute ago Adonis was asleep and Kasha was poised ready to snap Lucetta's neck. Then it hits me. _Adonis is alive- he's not even hurt!_ I'm too relieved to even _move,_ all I'm aware of is that around me everyone is shouting, screaming, _sobbing out of relief_.

Adonis pauses for a second, looking relieved but mostly confused. He notices the camp fire and he's on it in a moment, smothering its flames. For a second I think he's going to shout at Lucetta but then he realises she's hurt.

"My God, Lucie! Are you okay?" He gasps, going to check her head, "Okay don't move I'll make you a bed- you need to rest a minute, try going to sleep."

"What's he doing?" Amasis sniffs, his eyes red from bawling. It takes a moment, but it dawns on me. Kasen looks over urgently- his eyes wide with shock.

"He can't! Not now! Not when she's _injured_! Not Lucetta!" Mom exclaims, her face pale.

"He _has_ to- she's going to get them killed! Plus she looks horrible- I doubt she'll be able to move after this!" Dad protested, "You said it yourself, as long as he _gets back home_ that's all that matters." More shouts erupt as Kasen, Mom and Dad argue it out. I'm so caught up in it that I'm not looking at the screen until I hear Ama's cry.

Adonis has grabbed his sharpest knife and he is leaning over Lucetta's limp form. His hands are shaking and a single tear slips down his check. Taking a breath to settle his nerves, he leans over and slits her pale throat. In his distress, he's botched the job slightly, his hands slipping.

Lucetta's eyes pop open, glazing over almost instantly but for a second displaying confusion, horror and _pain_. Her wind pipe has been severed and so she can't make a sound but she is taking giant, gasping breaths through her cut trachea and gargling blood, spewing it all over the ground. Blood fills her mouth and she thrashes, in what appears to be unimaginable pain. Her spine arches as her body goes into spasm, sending blood flying through the air as her mouth opens in a final, silent scream.

Adonis scrambles backwards sobbing; horrified at the murder he had just committed. The screen cuts to Flavius and Augusta animatedly chatting and _l_ a _ughing_. I can't hear them; I can't hear anything. My vision blurs over as I collapse in a sobbing pile, screaming and crying, the image of Lucetta's gruesome death scorched on the backs of my eyelids. The screen fades to black at long last and I loose track of how long I lie on the couch before Kasen comes and carries me upstairs where I fall asleep to the vision of Lucetta's desperate eyes and silent screams.

...

The next day at school, not even Clos talks to me, instead I'm faced with accusative, disgusted and almost angry glares. After a stressful day of ostracisation, I return home to find Mom and Amasis desperately attempting to patch up Kasen. He has a black eye and a nasty split lip after a fight with Lucetta's older brother.

"Don't blame him, Maia," Kasen reassured me through pained grin, "He's hurting- his sister just died a horrible, brutal death way too young- and he can't take out on the Capitol now, can he?"

I see Kasen's point but I can't help but wish people would get that Adonis _had_ to kill Lucetta in order to survive. He'd tried to give her a quick, painless death. Maybe if he had killed her quickly and cleanly everyone would be more accepting, but he tried! If he hadn't have killed her they might both have died, and she was injured already. It was horrible to watch but everyone just does what they have to, to come home. The Capitol are the sick, cruel people watching, cheering and laughing at the suffering of _innocent children_.

For days, no one can look us in the eye. My teacher skims past me, ignoring my questions and hands me back my paper on a strange land called _America_ (which I was actually very pleased with) unmarked. Even my best friend Ruby avoids me, seemingly unable to look me in the eye.

Two days after Lucetta's death, the girl from Eight dies. I suppose she was getting boring. The Gamemakers set a mutt on her; a vicious, snarling hybrid which she doesn't notice until it is already on top of her. Her death is hardly fast and it certainly isn't pretty- it chews off her leg before moving onto her torso, and it in the end it takes three hours of gore before her body finally gives up. Mom won't let Amasis in the room the whole time, Capitol be damned.

The girl from Nine dies hours later when Tomas stumbles upon her. He lost his knife in a violent fight with a lion mutt, but he manages to smash her head against the floor and punches her until her ribs crack, the shattered bone digging into her heart and finally ending her suffering.

Surprisingly, the girl from Twelve lasts two days longer than Nine and Eight. She found the pond of water the Adonis and Lucetta had used, and, though she was slowly starving, the water kept her hydrated. She didn't have iodine, but (so far) the water hasn't killed her. I think the Gamemakers just want her alive so that they can draw out her death with another graphic murder.

Then Adonis finds her, after dragging himself, half mad with grief and guilt, to find some water. It isn't the crimson of the blood that spills from the her chest as Adonis slowly cuts her open or her tormented screams of anguish ringing through the house. It isn't even the sight of her guts spilling out from the inside of her twitching body. It's the look of horrified digust on his face as he realises what he's done to the poor girl that makes me empty the contents of my stomach all over Mom's expensive blanket. The look of sheer terror on his face, knowing that he's taken another person's life. The fear that he doesn't know who he is any more. And the utter helplessness- knowing that there is _nothing_ he can do about it. The viewing session ended with Kasen putting his fist through the window, smashing the lovely stained glass pattern.

...

As we all sit down to watch the Games, I can't seem to shake off the feeling that this is the end. The Threes are in trouble, that much is clear. A pack of snarling mutts, which look like a mixture between eagles and lions, are descending on the two. Bolt and Lanni scramble to their feet, screaming in terror and pain as they beat back the bird-cat hybrids with their swords. The fight is brutal and bloody, in the end leaving Lanni without her district partner and with two broken bones. Her sobs are loud and heart-wrenching, clearly audible all the way across the arena, which has been visibly shrinking ever since Kasha (and Lucetta)'s death.

Now only five tributes remain. Lanni is currently lying, face-down and shaking in agony over the body of Bolt, completely vulnerable. Her sword has broken off at the hilt and is buried in the flank of a mutt, leaving her defenceless and completely open to attack.

The boy from Nine has been forced out of wherever he was hiding by the rapidly shrinking arena. He's in surprisingly good shape; he appears to have found a safe stream and a selection of edible roots which have been sustaining him. However, the entirety of plan seems to have been to wait it out. Now that is no longer possible, I doubt he will be particularly good at fighting his way out. Nevertheless, he is completely unscathed and well-fed so definitely someone to look out for.

Tomas from District Six has had very little to drink in the past days, despite eating plenty of meat from small mutts he has managed to overpower. The result is a dehydrated, delusional but physically strong tribute. Definitely NOT a good combination.

The girl from Seven is facing a very unfortunate fate- she is stuck in a trap which is slowly lowering her body through quicksand into an underground pool of lava. The result is an agonising but tortuously slow death from which she can find no escape. After an hour she is screaming and pleading, tears running down her face as she slowly burns. Thrashing does her no good, only serving to prolong the torture.

It's then that Adonis finds her; her legs fully submerged by the quicksand/ lava. It only takes him a few moments to understand the trap and he swiftly plunges his knife into her chest, killing her instantly after an hour of torture and despair. His eyes shine and for a moment I am sure he is about to break down but instead

"For Lucetta," he whispers, before turning and disappearing into the tunnels.

Soon after, the boy from Nine stumbles upon Lanni, still silently weeping over her District Partner. He tries to make it quick but, without a decent weapon, it feels like a lifetime. After a few blind stabs with his dagger, he gives up and throttles her, only slightly surprised when she doesn't attempt to resist. Her eyes pop and she makes a feeble choking sound before finally laying to rest alongside Bolt. Nine wipes his hands on his pants before quickly salvaging what's left of the Three's supplies and weapons then sprinting off.

...

The Gamemakers are obviously desperate to end it. They send a pack of wild mutts after the boy from Nine, chasing him straight to where Tomas is hiding out. Neither are particularly well armed, but both are strong and well fed. Tomas has been drive half-mad and seems particularly blood-thirsty.

"What's he doing?" Amasis asks innocently, shattering the deathly silence in our living room and pointing to the corner of the screen. I have to strain my eyes, but I can just make out Adonis' hunched form. He's watching the battle with eager, calculating eyes; like an eagle watching his prey.

"I don't... know," Kasen whispers, his face scrunched up in confusion as he watches Adonis sneak out of the shadows. But I do- I can _tell_ from his expression. His face is coated with sweat, blood and grime, and in his trembling hand he holds a long, curved knife. Sneaking up behind Tomas, he winks at the boy from Nine, who breaks out in a huge smile. Tomas' face quickly changes from concentrated determination to confusion and finally morphs into shock as Adonis slams the knife between his two shoulder blades.

Tomas' blood is a startlingly bright crimson as it leaks onto the pale floor, and Adonis eyes it with curiosity, almost as if he doesn't recognise it. He looks fascinated as he touches it, fingering the sticky, scarlet mess with an air of innocence and confusion. It hits me suddenly that, if Adonis returns home, he won't be the same- he might not even be sane.

The boy from Nine lets out a deep breath and lets slip a smile. Not an evil smile; one of pure relief- he's one step closer to going home. Not only that, he only has the blood of one unimportant, insane girl from District 3 on his hands. The half-mad, confused boy from One is all that stands in his way. But even I can see that he has massively underestimated the threat that Adonis poses. Because being a desperate, raving lunatic isn't making Adonis weaker. It's making him so much stronger.

Lucetta's death scarred Adonis much more than he let on. That much is obvious as I watch him turn around, coated in blood, to face the boy from Nine. His knife still sticking out of Tomas' back; he attacks with his bare hands. _Punching, hitting, biting, kicking, smashing_ , as the two untrained fighters try to beat each other to death.

In the confusion of the fight I can't make out much but I'm fairly certain that Adonis' leg is bent in the wrong direction. And I didn't know that two bodies could hold _so much blood._ Adonis is still punching as the fanfare starts, tears streaming down his face. He doesn't stop until they drag him away from Nine's broken corpse, away to his new life of riches and glory.

All at once, I can hear cheering- the Capitol has erupted in waves of celebration. Mom and Dad are laughing, clinging on to each other with tears running down their cheeks. Kasen is swinging Amasis through the air, and they're smiling and clapping, and outside I can hear the people of One celebrating. But I can't move a muscle; to the couch by entire being consumed by one phrase- _Adonis is coming home._

Sure, Adonis is coming back. But not the Adonis we know. Not _our Adonis._

But I still know, deep down, that _it doesn't matter._ We can fix him. Nothing else matters because Adonis has done it and _he's coming home._

 _..._

 _AN: All reviews are greatly appreciated and help to inspire us so much! Chapter 3 will (hopefully) be up soon!_


	3. Lysander

3rd Annual Hunger Games

Victor: Lysander

Age: 16

Gender: Male

District: 4

Looking back, there's no doubt in my mind that I should have broken the alliance earlier. If we had split back when there were still plenty of other tributes around, the Games would have progressed much faster- it might already be down to the final two. Instead, all three of us are in the final four and stoically unwilling to make the first move, meaning that the action has ground to a halt. To put it shortly, the capitol is getting bored, and that can only mean bad things.

...

We had spent our last three days together trying to track down the boy from Ten, crossing the arena twice, before we finally spilt, mutually agreeing that we had a better chance of finding him (and ultimately surviving) individually.

Before the break, we had made an excellent alliance- Willow, Nolan and I. We had charmed the audience, bringing in countless sponsors. At least, I _think_ that's what they're calling them. They send gifts down in little parachutes- sometimes food, or weapons, sometimes even clothes. We soon figured out that the more dramatic and gruesome we made killing the tributes, the more money came in.

Nolan got a long-handled sword after snapping the neck of the small, whimpering girl from Five.

Willow- small, naïve, innocent looking Willow- received an axe on the third day of the alliance- probably as soon as her mentor could afford it. I think he realised that, despite her spirit, she would stand no chance if she was weaponless when the alliance broke.

...

The arena this year is stunning. The first sight that greeted us, as we were launched into the bay, was the crystal blue waters, and the white sand and the lush green forests rising from the beach. The horn was right in the middle of the sea, and so few of us could swim to get off it, that it was practically full when as sank beneath the surface, taking my district partner and three others with it. A fair few of the tributes from the outlying districts managed to escape in the frenzy, paddling madly to the nearby banks. With Penelope drowned in the first few minutes of the games, I quickly teamed with Nolan and Willow and we took down a fair few tributes at the bloodbath.

During the alliance, our kills were regular and we played up our charisma for the cameras. Naturally, the sponsor gifts rained down on us, and we never went hungry, or cold, or thirsty. One night, we were even sent an entire leg of lamb. But now I'm alone, with no one to kill and nobody to charm the audience with, and the sky has been empty for days.

...

Willow's only fourteen, the poor girl, she has dark curls and pale skin, and these electric blue eyes that rival even that of the waters of the arena. She comes from Seven, which is where she learnt to wield her axe, but the main reason I allied with her was because, in the confusion of losing the only familiar face and the frenzy of the bloodbath, she reminded me so strongly of Moria. Maybe it made me weak, maybe it still does, that I couldn't bear to leave her. Maybe I just made it harder- after all there is only going to be one Victor. But every time I think of killing her, Moria's smile flashes through my mind and I just _can't even think about it._

Nolan, on the other hand, is tall, blonde and muscular. He's eighteen, going on nineteen, and this year's male tribute from Two. I can't recall his reaping, but I have a strong feeling he was grinning at the podium. He's vicious, in a way that reminds me slightly of Tiberius- there was that look in his eyes sometimes, a look that was just bordering on being just _off_ \- but I decided he was our best shot at survival, and he I. It turned out he has quite got a soft side, that he manages to keep quite well hidden.

...

Moria's my girl, back in Four. We've been together for quite a while, a year or two, but I never got around to telling her how much she meant to me, for fear of coming on too fast. If I die in the Games, that will probably be my biggest regret.

I'm not sure, but I have this suspicion that she was a bit of a rebel sympathiser during the dark days, which I secretly admire quite a bit. Her parents aren't around anymore, leaving her to fend for her three younger siblings alone, Although I frequently help her look after them, I've the sense not to ask her where they are. However, I'm fairly sure that they were killed after being on the wrong side of the uprising.

Moria has this amazing personality, that just fills whichever room she's in with this kind of calm, positive aura. She was different when I was reaped though- in hysterics and was holding me as if she would never let go. As she-she wished me luck in the Justice Room, I was filled with the strong sense that she was saying ' _See you soon'_ instead of goodbye, fully believing I would return. That's just who she is. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel her last kiss, lingering as the peacekeepers pried her off me.

...

I can't help but wonder where my allies are. I know they're okay- the Gamemakers have this thing where every time a tribute is killed their face gets shone in the sky, like a huge hologram, just after sunset. I haven't seen one in three days; since we chased the girl from One into the ocean and she was dragged, pleading and screaming, under the waves by a pack of mutts.

 _I bet they're warmer than I am_ , I think bitterly. I'm halfway up the mountains surrounding the bay, where the jungles fall away, only to be replaced by rocky outcrops which rise so high the tips are coated with snow. I'm fairly sure it's natural snow as well, not that weird manufactured stuff. So it's probably safe to drink- at the very least I can melt the snow and I won't die of dehydration.

The way up is weary and so damn long, but once I'm up there, I'll be able to see anyone coming from a mile off. In a way, it's quite a strategic position. The only problem is the amount of time and energy required to reach the peak. It will most likely be a waste, but I'm nearly out of water and I've come too far to turn around now anyway. Besides, anyone atop the mountain would've already spotted and attacked me by now, so it is probably uninhabited.

...

I'm still on he look out for Conan though. I'm always on the lookout for Conan. He's the boy from Ten- quite plain, but has that _look_ about him. That look that says he wouldn't hesitate to rip out your guts, even if he wouldn't enjoy it all that much. He must be something really special- either that or he's on the other side of the mountains.

After over a week of sweeping the arena, I've come to the conclusion that the only two sources of (drinkable) water in the arena are the snow and sponsor gifts. The sea's much too salty to drink. I should know- I threw up fora good two hours after I tried it (which was ridiculously inconvenient but that's what you get for volunteering to _drink the damn salt water_ ).

I don't know if he's any good with weapons- I don't remember him from training. In fact, I can barely remember his face; just that expression of stiff determination I saw on his face as the Cornucopia began to sink. His face was steely as he grabbed the nearest weapons and swam for his life, leaving behind his wailing district partner.

...

I'm almost asleep when I hear the scream. In the dead silence of night, its blood-curdling tone rings clear down the slopes of the mountain. My body stiffens, and I sit, still as the night around me. My blood is pumping and my breath ragged in my throat. I sit for what might have been hours, but was realistically more like minutes. I can hear someone crashing through the trees somewhere to the left of me, and I can't help but roll my eyes, even as I reach for my knife. Talk about lack of stealth.

And then the monstrous howl resonates through the air, shaking me to the core, and my blood runs cold.

Mutts.

My fingers find the frayed rope that I used to tie myself to the tree and I yank it free, cursing my frozen fingers as I shove it into my bag. Leaping from my perch, just a few feet above the high, and landing on the ground with a jolt, I take off, in the opposite direction to the inhuman sounds.

My legs fly beneath me as I sprint, and I know that, right now, speed is infinitely more important than stealth and I begin to feel more empathy towards whoever was making such a racket. Had I been smart, or if even just thinking straight, I would have realised that running up the mountain was a incredibly stupid idea- that I would get stuck at the obvious dead end.

But I don't pay any attention to where my feet are taking me- just forcing myself to move _faster_ to _get away-_ until the soft grass beneath me gives way to jagged rocks. I don't have the cover of the canopy any more and in the distance, highlighted by the tip of the rising sun, I can just about make out another figure escaping the mutts.

...

Whoever it is, they're too tall to be Willow,and too skinny to be Nolan. I alter my course just slightly, angling myself towards him, and my fingers, once again, find my knife in my belt. Suddenly the figure halts, and turns to face me.

"District Four, right?" Conan calls, his voice raspy and hoarse.

"Yeah," I reply, my fist curling around the blade as my grip tightens. "Ten?" He nods, a solemn look on his face.

"Come on then," Even though it's dark and he's far away, I can almost see the light grin begin to form on his lips. "Let's play."

...

He takes off again, going up the mountain and sprinting into the shadows, and an idea begins to form in my head. If I can just get him _a little bit_ higher, maybe I won't have to use my knife at all.

We play chase for a while, and I stay just a few feet behind Conan, pacing myself so as to reserve my energy.

...

It's the oddest time to do so, but I suddenly think back to my old drama lessons- the performances and the improvisations. The lessons on how to fake emotions- joy, surprise and pride, but also fear, despair and hopelessness. I was actually pretty good, if I do say so myself. My eyes quickly take my surroundings. Just over ten foot away there's a sharp cliff, plummeting down over a hundred feet, ragged rocks lining its base.

Suddenly, I let out a piercing cry and fall to my knees. I force in a breath, tearing at my lungs, my throat like sandpaper. The stones cut into my hand, and my trousers tear as I crawl on the ground. My expression is one of utter pain.

"My _leg_ ," I whimper. Conan stops dead, and turns to face at me.

"Tired, Four?" My mouth can't form the words, instead I hold up my hands in defeat, and watching as his eyes glow in subdued triumph. "Then you know how this works." He takes his time, carefully pulling a sword out of his belt. It glints in the first rays of the sun, and there's a resigned look on his face as he charges at me. Ten metres away, then five, then two, then one…

...

I fling myself away, safe from his blade, but the momentum carries him forward and he can't stop himself in time. His feet scrabble on the edge of the precipice for a second, before he slips, screams of utter terror flying from his lips. I go to turn my head away, but my eyes are glued to his plummeting form. With one final cry of fear, he snaps his neck on the rocks at the foot of the cliff, his body almost destroyed by the impact. He is left lying as limp as a rag doll on the rocks, as the morning sun begins to rise.

...

The arena is silent for another two days, before Nolan dies. I assume Willow killed him, but I can't be sure. It could have been dehydration, or maybe mutts. It's no use dwelling in the past though- I know now that I've run out of time. It's coming- the endgame- the be all, end all. My chance of getting out. I glance up at the cloudless sky, tinted peach in the light of the rising sun.

"I'll be on the beach at sunset. I'm sure you can get her there for me."

...

At first I don't see her; she approaches from the opposite side of the bay, keeping low and staying in the shadows of the setting sun.

I haven't laid eyes on her in almost a week and, again, I am struck by the stark similarities between her and Moria. In the dusk, I can almost imagine that it isn't Willow who is slinking towards me, but instead the one person I want to see most in the world.

She looks like she has been doing well; she is surprisingly well-nourished and cautiously gripping her glinting axe with her left hand. I feel the slightest twinge of regret as she nears me, just close enough for me to make out her expression.

...

I can recognise the signs of a tribute who's mental health is failing; I've always been able to tell who isn't quite _right_ , call it a talent. It's the flash in their eye, the way that the hold themselves, the unnerving bounce in their step and the grin that's just a tad too wide to be real.

Or, sometimes, it's the despair, the wide-eyed loss of moral stability and the frenzy in their movements. Someone, or something, has just broken them- pushed them that bit too far, just over the edge of sanity. That's how it was with Adonis; that's how it is with most people who have killed someone they loved.

...

Unfortunately, I can also tell that all of these signs are absent in Willow. I don't know how the seemingly innocent, petite girl from Seven has survived alone for the past week without loosing a marble or two, but she seemingly has.

Even as I watch her, a change seems to come over her body; her eyes light up and a small, hopeful smile spreads over her face. It seems to say, ' _Long time no see, old friend,'._ She lets her axe hang limp at her side for a second, unsure of what to do with it, before discarding it in the sand, landing a few feet from me. She brakes into a jog, running towards me with her arms outstretched, as if she's going to hug me.

My breath catches into my throat and tears begin to prick in my eyes; Willow's presence is a respite from the danger, stress and calamity of the past week. I all but run forward into her embrace, forgetting for a moment where we are and what I came here to do- only knowing that, at least for now, I don't need to worry about it. As I meet her, her jacket digs into me, a spike or piercing my skin, but for the moment I can't even think of moving.

I bury my face into her dark curls, breathing in deeply. She smells of sea salt, and smoke- just the same as she did on the first night of the alliance, when she crawled, sobbing into my flimsy sleeping bag and asked me to help keep the nightmares at bay. I had comforted her then- just like I used to with Moria's younger siblings when the vicious storms and howling winds would fill the nights in Four. For a second, I feel as if I'm back there; in the bitter night, with the rain pelting down through the gaps in the roof and hitting my face, as I hold Talesa, Finbar and Salton, promising them safety I can never provide.

...

Willow sniffs in my ear, wrenching me back from my memories and onto the idyllic beach. Her embrace leaves me slightly light-headed, or maybe its the small pinpricks in my arms from her jacket.

" _I thought I would never see you again. I've been so afraid!_ " her voice sounds echoey and distant, even though her mouth is next to my ear. My head begins to swim, her pale face fading in and out of focus. My arms begin to spasm and my legs twitch.

"What's... happening to me?" I choke out, my eyes watering and my throat burning at the effort, "Willow, help... me. I can't breathe... Willow please!" I cry desperately, my knees buckling as I grip her jacket.

Through my blurred vision, I can see her gently prying my clammy hands off her shoulders and backing away, a solitary tear sliding down her cheeks.

" _I'm so sorry, it was the only way,"_ Willow's voice drifts into my ears, " _I had no choice, there was no guarantee I could have beaten you in a fair fight. My mentor said it would be relatively quick; it's just a few plants. I have to go home, I have to much to lose. I'm so sorry Lysander, I can't leave them,"_ She turns away, her voice catching in her throat.

...

If she hadn't have said anything- left or just stayed silent- I truly believe Willow would have won. I would have lain, twitching on the beach, waiting as the last of the poison entered my bloodstream and destroyed my nerves.

But her words are resonating inside my head- _'I can't leave them'_. Willow might have family at home, people who she will fight tooth and claw to get back to, but so do I. I have Moria- her gorgeous laugh and her smiling eyes. I have her younger siblings, Talesa, Finbar and Salton- small and afraid but also lively and boisterous; alone in the world, without parents to care for them. I have my parents, old and frail as they are. I have the whole town, poor and starving. I have the entire District. I can't leave them, broken and, most of all, without hope.

I lie, jerking uncontrollably in the sand with tears rolling down my face.

 _I can't leave them_.

My entire body is in utter anguish as I attempt to straighten out my right leg, my left gradually, but surely, lifting me off the ground.

 _My parents._

My entire body trembles, wracked with agony as I force myself forwards in the sand.

 _The town._

My mouth is torn open in a silent scream as my fingers, jerking uncontrollably, reach towards Willow's axe, where it lies discarded in the sand.

 _District Four._

The muscles in my arms shake and my something in my chest rips, sending waves of agony though my entire body, as I attempt to lift the massive weapon.

 _Talesa, Finbar and Salton_ _._

My teeth clamp down on my tongue to prevent any noise escaping, biting so hard that I can taste blood, as I heave myself onto my knees, Willow's axe high above my head.

 _Moria._

I fix my gaze on Willow's petite, retreating figure, ignoring my internal screams of agony and pulling back the weapon as far as I can.

 _I can't leave them._

I hurl the axe forward, where it lands deep in Willow Mason's skull, making me the Victor of the Third Annual Hunger Games.

...

 _A/N: Okay wow! Chapter 3 is finally up (it's been in the works for ages but I've finally gotten my act together and finished it). Sorry for the wait- we've had a very busy past month. Luckily, now school's out so you can expect loads more updates from us very soon (Chapter 4 is almost ready!). Please feel free to give us feedback or constructive criticism- reviews are always heavily appreciated!_


	4. Caiden

4th Annual Hunger Games

Victor: Caiden

District: 9

Gender: Male

Age: 17

 _Dear Annalise,_

 _Where to start? Leto said he'd give this to you, just in case I don't come back. Of course, he said, I can tell you all of it the second I return home. I haven't said it, but I'm starting to think the only way I'm coming home is in a pine box. It's late- it must be past midnight, but I can't sleep. I'm scared. I'm really scared, Anna. The thing is, I'm not scared of death. I've always known it is coming for me, just as it will come for everyone, eventually, I suppose. But I'm scared that I'll lose myself on the way. I'm terrified of what I'll become. A murderer, a monster, a killer. Like all the others. Like those sixty-nine kids who lost their lives in the arena, and the three kids who didn't._

 _I will fight. I'm from District Nine, after all. We do little else. You know this- we weren't the first to pry away from the Capitol, but we fought for our freedom and we were so close to winning it. But after four years, people know that there's no point anymore. The first Games and the tributes, so unwilling to fight, were cut down by the one person who was loyal to the Capitol. The second Games, where we came so close to a Victor. The third Games, and the haunted look in the Victor's eyes as he threw his ally's own axe deep into her skull. They're here to stay, and there's little we can do about it. Not now, anyway. Maybe in a hundred years, maybe in a hundred and fifty, maybe even more than that. When people have forgotten what we were fighting about, someone will rise from the ashes of our broken nation to do the right thing. But not me. Not now._

 _I remember the first time I met you. You were coated in blood- some of it yours, most of it not. Midway through the Dark Days, Mama took pity on you and took you in. You integrated yourself into my family so quickly. My best friend and my sister. Somehow, I'm not entirely sure what my life was like before you showed up, with your leg half torn off and your eyes so haunted and terrified._

 _Of all the people I'm leaving behind, I'm most scared for you. I can't work out exactly how long it took for me to realise that I love you, only that it happened so suddenly and all at once that it was like the whole world clicked into place. You completed everything, like the final piece of a puzzle. I will never hold out the illusion that I will see you again, mostly because it's too painful to imagine a future when it's all going to be denied of me anyway._

 _I don't know what to expect this year. For the first time, we've been given two days of training - one for weapons and one for survival, mostly because only just over half the tributes who died last year were killed by other tributes. That means a naturalistic arena, but I can't decide if that's a good thing. I'd almost rather have Tiberius' arena because at least then it would be over quickly. Now I have to make a decision. Do I fight the others for what supplies there are, or do I run and hope the sponsors take pity on me? I wish I could ask for your help._

 _I hope you do good things with your life. Things I can now never hope to achieve. I don't want to go. I thought I was ready for this, but I'm not. I'm really not. Help me, Anna. I need help._

 _Love, Caiden_

 _Xxx_

* * *

 _Dear Silas,_

 _How's the puppy? I know Mama says he's just a waste of space, but I don't think so. He really loves you. Look after him for me._

 _I have to go away for a while. I might come back. I probably won't. Did you see the parade, on the holovision? Did you like the colours? Did you see me there? I swear, if Milo laughed, I give you permission to hit him from now until the end of time._

 _I want you to know I will always remember you._

 _I will remember the way your eyes lit up when Papa and Anna came home with the dog, who was really a present for my birthday, but I hadn't even tried to win his affections because he had so clearly chosen you. You named him Taffy, and Mama complained, saying it was such a soft name for such a nasty little thing._

 _I will remember the way you trembled under the table in my arms as bombs exploded around the house, the windows shattering. How you had relaxed when Anna started to sing, despite Milo telling her to shut the hell up._

 _I will remember t_ _he way you followed me and Milo and Papa to work, your toy scythe over your shoulder, and how you pretended to cut the grain while the workers laughed._

 _I will remember t_ _he way you ate the chocolate cake on your birthday, even if it was disgusting. It took Mama three months to save up for it. The candles were a disaster, the singing out of tune, but you smiled your huge toothy grin and it was the best day any of us had for years._

 _I will remember t_ _he way Anna braided your hair before your first day of school, and you were so excited. You couldn't understand why Milo and I laughed so hard, and when you came home you glared at us and asked why we hadn't told you that school was so horrible._

 _Anna and Milo and Papa and Mama will watch the Games on the holovision. I don't want you to see them. Ask if you can leave the room when it comes on. I'm sorry I won't get to see you grow up. But you're going to be fantastic. Absolutely Fantastic._

 _Don't take any tesserae from them, when your time comes. Don't let Milo do that either, or Anna. Look after yourself. Look after the puppy. Remember, I love you. And I will always remember you._

 _Love, Caiden_

 _Xxx_

* * *

 _Dear Milo,_

 _These letters are the hardest thing I have ever had to write. Please read Silas' out to her if she can't do it herself. Look after her. I won't be there for her, so I need you to be the supportive older brother. This isn't the time to let your pride get in the way._

 _Everywhere you go now, people will whisper. They'll turn and point._ He's Caiden's brother. _They'll give you reassuring pats, they'll shoot you sympathetic glances, they'll come up to you and say, we have total faith in you brother, and we're sure he'll make it back. But remember this. They don't actually care. They want the food Parcel Day will bring. And if I die they'll shrug and say,_ oh well, better luck next year. _Don't let them get to you. Papa, Mama, Anna and Silas are the ones who need you now. Look after them._

 _Here's some advice. Family always comes first. Work hard on your studies- I think you're really very clever, even if hardly anyone has the time to tell you that. You could make a name for yourself, if you put in the effort. You could_ be _someone. You could bring the family out of the shithole life they're in. Don't turn your back on them, even when you become the richest person in the District, because they never turned their back on you and they need you. And finally, that girl you like? Go for it. I think she likes you too. Besides, life's too short, and all that._

 _I know you and I have never really seen eye to eye. But you're my brother, and as corny as this may sound, I love you. And don't you ever forget it._

 _Don't cry. Not in front of Silas._

 _Love, Caiden._

 _Xxx_

* * *

 _Dear Mama,_

 _It's really late now. If you were here, you'd come and tell me to switch the light off and to go to sleep. I just want to say thank you, for everything. Everything you've done for me. I love you. If I come back, you can all come and live with me in the Village. If not, I want to be buried next to Grandmother._

 _If I don't win, I hope that Maura does. It will mean more food for you, at Parcel Day. If I go down, root for her. Don't treat her with anger or hatred because she's alive and I'm not. I asked her to find you, if she wins, and I'll do the same for her family. Don't do anything dangerous. Don't let Milo, Anna or Silas take any extra tesserae. It isn't worth it. Make sure Silas doesn't watch the Games. I don't want her to see me._

 _Please don't fall to drugs again. It would break my heart to know I'm what's causing you the pain. Even if it's how you feel, I don't want to know that you feel I've done so much damage you don't want to live anymore. That you'd waste your life, and everything you've still got in it, because of me._

 _Life will go on, after I'm gone, which may seem kind of strange, and cruel when you've watched someone die. But death doesn't scare me. Life is full of work, and loss, and heartache. In death there is only quiet. There is only peace, because I do not believe death is the end. More like going to sleep after a very long day._

 _Thank you. I know it's too late for all this now. But thank you for everything._

 _Love, Caiden_

 _Xxx_

* * *

 _Dear Papa,_

 _When the Games are over, and the District has fallen into mourning, when the Victory Tour comes around and whoever becomes my killer gets paraded around Panem for all to see, when the next Reaping is held and twenty-four more kids get picked for slaughter, when those Games draw to a close as you prepare yourself for next year, when, in decades time, we get our own Victor, you will move on. All of you. You may never truly forget, but you won't feel a stabbing pain every time someone mentions my name. You won't feel your heart shatter every time they play recaps of the Games on the holovision. You won't break down in tears when someone talks about their oldest son._

 _You will smile with pride every time someone mentions my name. You will watch with determination and resignation when they play recaps of the Games on the holovision. You will grin and tell a thousand different stories whenever someone talks about their oldest son._

 _You won't bring up Silas to believe that what happened to her brother was something which must be grieved for all eternity. You will bring her up to believe it was a terrible thing, and a great sacrifice. Chances are, when she grows up, she won't remember me much. Just a shadow in the corner of her mind._

 _Anna will grieve, however, and you won't be able to teach her not to. You need to be there for her. If there's one last thing I ask of you, it's to be there for her. I know you've never thought of her as your own. Her past is clouded in mystery, the first eleven years of her life just a story she is reluctant to tell. But she is my sister just as much as Silas is, even if it isn't through blood. She is my sister, and my best friend, and I'm her brother. Don't think she won't grieve because she's not a real part of our family. She is._

 _Milo won't grieve on the outside. He had too much pride for that. But inside he will be screaming, screaming for someone to hear him, to help him. That someone should be you._

 _Mama might fall to drugs again. Don't let her. She didn't want us growing up around them, not like how she did, and she may forget she still has three kids to look after. She might fade away, she might forget about the world and her family. I need you to remind her that there's still someone here for her, to stop her following straight in my footsteps._

 _And you will grieve both outwardly and inwardly. Your tears will be just a tiny indication of the agony you feel inside. Don't let that destroy you. They only have you now._

 _I hope I see you again soon. Then again, maybe not so soon. Not until you're old and grey, and you finally come and join me, wherever I am._

 _Love, Caiden_

 _Xxx_

* * *

The Fourth Hunger Games were set on the side of a snowy mountain, and lasted three days. The Bloodbath claimed only four lives, a record which would be left unbroken for nearly three decades. The tributes from Seven and Eleven allied, as did the tributes from One and Two (this was the origins of the traditional Career Pack, and, interestingly, when the two Districts were first formally planning this, they had invited District Seven to join them, but when they turned them down, they instead settled on District Four). These two alliances combed the relatively small arena, wiping out Districts Three, Five, Six, Ten and Twelve within the first twenty-four hours.

Caiden was the first tribute to survive the Games without any form of alliance. While he created a weak friendship with Maura, his district partner, he fled at the Cornucopia with little more than a rucksack and a small hunting knife. He was actually the first to call the giant horn which had been used since the very first Games by the name _'Cornucopia',_ and this too quickly became tradition, taking only five years for the name to become official. He later said in interviews that it reminded him of the woven horns his District used after the annual harvest to store any excess wheat, and that the word mean ' _horn of plenty_ ', which he thought was a rather fitting name.

The Games were over relatively quickly, lasting just four days. Caiden made only one kill, after the boy from Four stumbled upon his hiding place, a rocky cave buried in the side of a cliff, and he was reluctant as he stabbed the intruder in the back.

The Fourth Annual Hunger Games set in stone the procedure which wouldn't be broken for seventy years. Many traditions were begun on that cold mountainside, and other than the interviews, which didn't appear for a further six years, by the time Katniss Everdeen entered the arena, little had changed in the world of the Games.

* * *

 _AN- Chapter 4- finally! Unfortunately, we are both going on holiday for two weeks (without wi-fi) and so Chapter 5 will probably have to go up when we get back. But we'll have loads ready when we do! As always, please leave us any reviews as we really appreciated them!_


	5. Ronan

5th Annual Hunger Games

Victor: Ronan

District: 7

Gender: Male

Age: 16

Althea Herriot fell in love with District Seven the moment she stepped foot off the train and down onto the wooden station platform.

Having lived her whole life in the sleek, modern world of the Capitol, she had been only too eager when presented with the opportunity of visiting one of the Districts, even if it would be only for a short while.

And she was not disappointed. Even from her position on the station platform, Althea could easily see that District 7 was a world away from her home, the Capitol.

Ashes, ferns and oaks sprung up from every direction, surrounding her and reaching high into the sky, as tall as any skyscraper she had ever seen. The forest was alive with vibrant greens- emerald, chartreuse, lime, viridian, malachite- the epitome of natural beauty.

The golden glow of sunlight spilled through the gaps in the canopy above, warming her skin and catching the sparkle in her eyes. The station platform was dusted in a light cover of amber leaves, which were occasionally joined by a stray wanderer from a nearby sapling.

A dense mat of ferns and moss gave the air an earthy quality, which was quite unlike anything she had ever before experienced. The air was filled with the sweet sound of birdsong, tinkling like a lullaby in the breeze.

As she watched, enraptured by the natural beauty, a small, reddish rodent- almost like a chipmunk- dropped from a nearby ash and began to scamper across the platform, before stopping to nibble at a large acorn.

Caught completely off guard, Althea let out a rather unladylike squeak of shock,

"What is it?" she whispered to the Peacekeeper closest to her, "I've never seen anything like it before!"

He made a sort of amused chuckling sound before replying, "That, Miss Herriot, is a squirrel. A red squirrel to be exact. If it were a grey squirrel, I would have shot it on sight; they're vermin- gnaw through the trees and completely ruin them. Red squirrels are harmless, though- you can even pick it up if you like. Odd to see a one so close to the ground, though."

Althea had already made it halfway toward the curious little 'squirrel' when she suddenly remembered where she was and who she was about to meet.

She internally cursed her curious nature; she was about to meet the mayor of District Seven. She couldn't very well go around squatting in her heels and petting animals- she'd ruin her gorgeous outfit!

She decided instead to admire the scenery as she waited for the hovercraft to arrive to take her to the Justice Building. Althea couldn't help but notice that the woods in District Seven seemed so much more alive than the few Parks in the Capitol, before immediately banishing the thought.

She shook her head at her own foolishness, mentally reprimanding herself that no, nothing in the districts could possibly be better than it was in the Capitol. In fact, she mused with just a hint of humor, she was probably just sensing the masses of teaming insects crawling around on the forest floor.

* * *

Mayor Lindberg had greeted her just outside of Seven's Justice Building which Althea recognised from the Reapings in previous years. She had always found it a tad too imposing and frankly rather desolate- in all honesty, she had seen prisons with more colour.

The mayor was quite an old man, no younger than his mid-sixties, whose fern green eyes smiled wearily at her as he welcomed her inside. His skin was heavily tanned, as if he had spent years in the sun, and his face lined with deep wrinkles- crow's feet as marks of times of laughter, and frown lines from years of stress.

Althea imagined he must have been rather tall once, perhaps well over 6 feet, however, the strain of his years had made him stoop. And so, Althea quite frankly _towered_ over him in her heels.

His posture was quite atrocious but, that aside, had the typical build of a lumberjack, although his frame seemed hollow, as if he were a balloon with all of the air let out of him.

As she shook his hands she noticed that they were unbearably rough and calloused- why in Panem he didn't indulge in some hand cream, Althea simply couldn't imagine.

Just as she opened her mouth to tactfully recommend a particularly rejuvenating line of creams (which she was sure would also help to sort out the deep creases in his forehead), Althea remembered that she was representing the Capitol.

That she should adhere to the very best social etiquette. And that pointing out his physical imperfections (no matter how glaringly obvious), would most certainly not leave a meet the required social standards.

And so she bit her lip and stayed quiet as he took her on a fascinating (if rather long) tour of the Justice Building and the many, many artefacts inside of it.

They made their way up, floor by floor, him pointing out various items of historical importance and her inserting the appropriate noises of appreciation, until, at long last, the Mayor turned to show her to her quarters.

"I'm sorry about the last minute lodgings Miss Herriot- it had been arranged for you to stay in a log cabin down by the river, but, unfortunately, we had to mix things up a bit. So you'll be staying here tonight- it may be shabby compared to your home in the Capitol, but it is the safest building in the whole of Seven."

It wasn't until quite a while later, when she was half asleep, that Althea began to wonder exactly why she had to worry so much about her safety.

* * *

No one had thought to warn her that District Seven could get quite so chilly.

Barely five minutes ago, Althea had been basking in the sunlight on the stage and watching cheerfully as the people of District Seven filtered into the square.

Then, almost as if on cue, just as the last of the twelve-year-olds lined up at the back, the clouds had rolled in. They had blocked out the sun's golden rays, casting the square into darkness.

Althea thought it was a great pity; it gave the event a rather more sombre feel, not one at all appropriate for the great honour that the District was partaking in.

Mayor Lindberg took his place at the front of the stage, beginning a speech on the honour and history of the games. Althea tried hard to pay attention, truly she did. She kept her back straight as a ruler and fixed a cheerful smile on her face, but somehow the Mayor's words washed over her.

Before she could even compose herself, it was her turn to speak. With a shaky breath, she drew herself to her feet and stepped forward to the microphone.

"Welcome! Welcome, District 7! I'm Althea Herriot, and I shall be escorting the tributes from your wonderful District this year! Happy Hunger Games and May the Odds Be Ever in your Favour!" She gushed out, her excited voice bouncing around the square. There was a small (rather confused sounding) smattering of applause, to which Althea blushed deeply.

"Now, before we begin, we have a special message brought to you all the way from the Capitol!" Althea declared, standing back on her heels as the video began to play. She had seen it many times before- it had been played every year at the reapings so far.

It was about the Dark Days and the Capitol's benevolence. Topics which, though she agreed with, she had little passion for and found rather dull.

Still with her head turned towards the screen, Althea allowed her eyes to quickly scan the crowd. She couldn't see much from the podium, but she could tell that almost every single person, child and adult, looked like they had spent the vast majority of their life working.

At the very front, and closest to her, Althea could see the eighteen-year-olds- muscled and tall, most of them, and they looked downright menacing. Even the twelve-year-olds at the back looked as if they could knock a tree down with a single punch.

Panem's national anthem signalled the end of the video, blasting through the square, and recalled Althea to the job at hand.

"Wasn't that just lovely? Now, let's get on with the reapings- isn't this exciting?" She beamed, her voice full of exuberance.

The crowd stared at her blankly, and on some faces she could even detect a hint of anger (why in Panem she had no idea), but Althea carried on, undeterred.

"Alright then! Ladies first!" She looked down into the reaping bowl, her manicured fingernails leisurely swirling around inside the sea of slips.

Her instructions had been simple- to pick a piece of paper with a pale blue marking on it- and she had to search for a second or two in order to find one.

It was such an odd request, but then again, she had already come to the conclusion that that the Capitol had to put in blank slips to make the bowl look fuller. After all, it did make for better television.

She drew the slip out, her fingers shaking slightly as she went to announce the name.

"The female tribute from District Seven for the Fifth Annual Hunger Games is… Acacia Cardew!" There was a murmur of excitement (or was it perhaps something else?)- as she called the name.

There was a noticeable ripple in the 18-year-olds, which was followed by one or two shocked shouts from the back of the square.

"Come on up dear, don't be shy!" Althea held out a hand gesturing to the crowd, her cheerful smile still on her face.

Eventually, a rather strong looking girl (but then again, weren't they all?) emerged from the crowd and began tentatively making her way up the steps.

"There you are! Well, aren't you gorgeous?" Althea trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. She faltered slightly, feebly attempting to rearrange her startled expression into one of composure.

As Acacia slowly approached the stage, a collective gasp ran through the crowd. Most of them probably recognised her, and those who didn't, well, word travelled quickly through the masses.

From afar, Acacia looked like a tribute who might actually have a decent chance at winning, with the right sponsors, but the closer she got, the faster the realisation that she was a dead girl walking dawned on Althea.

She was in relatively good shape, a bit tall for her age, and her lean muscles gave the impression that she was a fair runner.

Her reddish hair was quite similar to Althea's and curled prettily over her white reaping dress. Her face was notably tanned, from long days in the sun and a smattering of freckles covered her cheeks.

It was hard to tell, but, from her colouring, Althea supposed her eyes may have once been warm brown. Perhaps a bright emerald, or cobalt. But no, Acacia's eyes were milky white, pupil-less and glazed over.

Had it been any other time, or indeed, any other place, Althea would have wondered what had caused this young girl's blindness. Whether she had born without the ability to see, or whether it had been an unfortunate lumber accident.

But Althea's mind was otherwise occupied, attempting to figure out the odds, to construct a game plan, to see a loophole. Attempting to imagine an outcome where her first ever tribute could survive, or at the very least, die a dignified death.

Althea forced a cheerful smile on her face, in spite of the harsh sinking sensation in her chest.

"Why don't you come and tell everyone how old you are?" she forced out, taking the girl by the arm gently guiding her towards the microphone.

"I'm eighteen and a few months," Acacia whispered, her body visibly trembling like a leaf. She opened her mouth to continue, seemingly hardening her resolve, but was cut off by a piercing cry from the crowd-

"No! Stop! Wait! Take me instead!" A dark haired girl emerged, screaming, from the crowd below, "Please! Don't take her!" the girl broke down in a sobbing mess of tears, "Acacia, no! I love y-"

From her side, Althea felt, rather than heard, Acacia's sharp intake of breath and her whisper, "Ivy."

From the sides off the square, two peacekeepers clad in immaculate uniform marched forward, heading straight for her.

The crowd parted at once, shying away from them, a few even recoiling, leaving a clear path towards her. In mere seconds, they were on top of the pleading girl, dragging her, without much resistance, to the edge of the square.

Althea swallowed, attempting to drag her eyes away from the shocking, but oddly enrapturing, scene in front of her, sending a dazzling smile to the wary crowd.

"Well, now it's time for the gentlemen!" she practically bounced, injecting an extra bit of excitement to her voice. She almost sent a smile to Acacia before catching herself and laying a gentle (and, hopefully, reassuring) hand on her arm as she reached into the reaping bowl.

Again, she made a point of reaching grasping around inside, picking up a slip before dropping it, and at last settling and deftly picking one with a pale blue mark.

"District Seven's male tribute for the Fifth Annual Hunger Games is… Ronan Miller." She examined the square expectantly.

For a second or two, the air was heavy with an ominous silence. Not one person in the crowd moved; even the dark haired girl at the side froze, tears trailing down her cheeks and an empty cry caught in her throat.

Then, all at once, there were a few uncertain claps, tentative at first, but rapidly growing in both number and vigour, until almost the entire square was hollering and cheering.

The noise was deafening as a rough-looking boy emerged from the sixteen-year-olds. When he reached the stage the commotion grew so loud it must have shaken the ground.

"Well isn't this simply splendid! It's wonderful to see a District with so much support for their tributes! Is there anything you would like to say Mister Miller?" Althea beamed, giving him a slight push toward the front of the stage.

He sent a disparaging look before stepping up to the microphone and hissing a furious message to the crowd, "I will get back. I will win. I will do whatever it takes... but I will win."

At his words, the cheering stopped almost instantaneously, melting into something which seemed slightly more sombre- almost anger or perhaps it was more fear.

It was deathly quiet as Ronan abruptly spun on his heel and marched into the Justice Building.

* * *

It was almost midday when Althea finally got the chance to interact with her tributes properly. She stumbled upon them, quite by mistake as she was searching for the lunch carriage and found them already inside.

Acacia sat up at the dinner table the second the door opened, her hands folded neatly in her lap and a faintly alarmed look on her face. At Althea's announcement of her arrival, she replaced her rather worried look with a far more welcoming (if not less afraid) smile.

Ronan didn't even turn to face her. He was hunched over, facing away from her and muttering furiously. As she approached, she could see that he was carving furiously at a piece of wood, his hands moving faster than she could keep track of them.

It looked vaguely like an animal and, as she watched it take shape before her eyes, she realised it bore strong resemblance to the strange creature she'd seen on the platform the day previously- a squirrel.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Ronan spun around to face her, his eyes dancing with rage, shoving the delicate figure inside his pocket.

"Oh, well, that wasn't terribly polite now was it? How about we start with some lessons on manners?" Althea smiled whole-heartedly, more than slightly embarrassed that she had let her curiosity show in front of the tributes she was mentoring, "After all, charisma means sponsors and sponsors mean victory!" She beamed, taking a seat next to Acacia.

* * *

An hour or so later, Althea was practically tearing her newly dyed hair out in frustration.

Ronan was an... interesting boy. He was confrontational, flippant to the point of extreme rudeness, and his language was simply abominable. He would butt in with cutting remarks at regular intervals, pausing only eagerly eye the desserts on the table.

He had even screamed at the poor maid bringing them afternoon tea, reducing her near to tears. But, despite his harsh exterior, Althea felt the slightest twinge of affection towards him.

Acacia, on the other hand, was an absolute dream; sweet and well-mannered yet intelligent and rather witty. She would have no doubt enraptured the Capitol, had hundreds, if not thousands, of sponsors.

Unfortunately, due to her current disadvantages, it was unlikely she'd get enough to buy much more than a cracker, perhaps two.

But Althea wasn't supposed to think about that.

She wasn't supposed to wonder how far Acacia would make it- if she would even get off the platform, or if she would be cut down where she stood, an easy target. Nothing more than cannon fodder.

She wasn't supposed to think about Ronan's death- if he would starve to death slowly and painfully. If she would watch helpless, unable to scrape together the funds to buy him even a berry.

Or if he would be sliced in half, split clean open, his guts spilling out onto the arena floor and the fire in his eyes long dead.

She wasn't supposed to think of how her tributes would die.

She was supposed to smile and to make them look pretty for the cameras. She was supposed to teach them manners, ignoring the fact that in a few weeks, at least one, if not both of the two tributes, _children_ , in front of her would be dead.

So she did.

* * *

It was getting late when Acacia finally retired to her bedroom, with the help of a passing maid, leaving Althea and Ronan eating dinner in a stony silence, which, in her defence, Althea was doing her very best to break.

"So, how is life at home?" Ronan lifted his head from his plate and sent her a venomous glare.

"Do you have any siblings?" The glare intensified and Ronan's fists tightened around his cutlery, his knuckles turning white.

"Did anyone come and see you in the Justice Build-" She was interrupted by a loud bang as Ronan pushed his chair back, jumped to his feet and slammed his fists onto the dinner table, sending a platter of chicken crashing to the ground.

"Fuck. Off." He ground out, his eyes flashing with rage and his jaw clenching and unclenching as he spoke.

Althea shrunk back slightly in her seat, before remembering where she was and who he was, and resumed silently nibbling at her food. Ronan slowly sat back down, still glaring at her, and resumed eating.

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before Althea dared try start a conversation again.

"It is so wonderful that your district is showing you so much support," Althea ventured cautiously, before gaining confidence and barrelling forwards, "You know, District 7 has never shown this much interest toward the Games before; it's simply tremendous that they're getting in the spirit. You really must be something special, Ronan!" she finished, beaming.

Unfortunately, Ronan didn't have quite the reaction she expected; he froze, fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes staring at her in shock. Suddenly, he dropped the cutlery (and the food on it) with a clatter and his eyes narrowed to slits as he hissed at her,

"You don't understand shit! Yes, they were bloody cheering- I'm going to fucking die!" Ronan yelled, before freezing. All of a sudden he slumped back in his chair, like all of the energy had been sucked out of him, and curled into a ball, breathing heavily, practically gasping for air.

Althea's heart jumped in her chest- the poor boy! She rushed to her feet and began stroking his back, attempting to comfort him. To her utmost surprise, he didn't attempt to push her away, instead melting into her motherly embrace.

Althea did her best to soothe him, vigilantly ignoring the steadily growing damp patch on the shoulder of her favourite jacket. After a minute or so she chose to speak up.

"It's okay, everyone gets nervous sometimes, but your District believes in you- all that's missing is that you believe in yourself! A District's support is one of the most important things a tribute can have," she murmured encouragingly.

Ronan stiffened before he let out a strangled laugh, shoving Althea off him sharply and rising to his feet. He drew himself up to his full height, tear tracks still shining on his cheeks and a look of disgust on his face. He looked at her for a second, letting out another harsh laugh.

"I can't believe for a second I actually thought that you... You didn't fucking listen to a word I said did you? Don't... touch me. You don't understand shit!" His voice rose gradually louder and louder with each word until he was practically screaming at her.

Before Althea could even process his words, Ronan turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the carriage reverberated.

Althea didn't know how much time had passed when she finally lifted herself to her feet and walked slowly out of the deserted carriage, confused and extremely tired.

* * *

Althea woke up the next day to the warm rays of the late morning sun hitting her face and the familiar skyline of the Capitol outside her window.

The view so relaxed her that she quite forgot that she had intended to wake up before dawn in order to help prepare her tributes for their arrival at the Capitol.

She was in the midst of deciding which shoes best matched her outfit when the realisation that she had wildly overslept hit her, full force. Fighting back the urge to panic, she made herself presentable as quickly as possible before sprinting (well, striding as fast as she could in her six-inch heels) to the tribute carriage.

She arrived outside the carriage door just as the train began to pass the Capitol's largest, and best, National Park. From inside, she could hear faint whispers from Acacia and Ronan. Curiosity overtook her and she crept to the wall, pushing the door open just an inch.

"Are we in the park yet? How does it look? Is it as beautiful as they say?" Acacia's wistful tone drifted into the corridor.

"It's… gorgeous. There must be thousands of flowers- poppies and roses and lilies- and the trees. They're glowing like stars or lanterns, it's beautiful," At first, Althea didn't recognise Ronan's voice- it was so different from the next before, kinder and soft.

"What about animals? Can you see any?"

"Actually I can't but, oh Panem, there's this massive fountain in the middle of everything with hundreds of layers and the water is multi-colored!" Ronan's voice began to speed up, filling with excitement, "And there are floating walkways… just wait 'til you see it!"

Acacia's expressed changed suddenly, and she began hissing urgently, lowering her voice so Althea had to strain to hear her, "Ronan we've been over this. It's not going to happen!"

"Yes, it is! I'm strong enough to get both of us out of there and, once we're in the last two, you can't stop me! And they can do anything in the Capitol! Everyone back at home hates me anyway! At least if I get you out they have to forgive me!" Came the frustrated reply.

Althea sounded furious, both at Ronan and herself, as she uttered the next words, "I am not letting you sacrifice yourself for me, Ronan Miller!"

"Why not? Everyone back at home hates me anyway! You have a family! A job! A girlfriend! People who care!" He seemed to be getting simultaneously more excited and upset, a rather odd phenomenon to witness.

"Don't you get it?" Acacia whispered, in an exasperated tone that hinted that it was _not_ the first time the two had taken part in this particular argument, "You'll just get us both killed!"

Althea stumbled away from the door, her head spinning. She felt her legs fall from beneath her as her heels slipped on the shiny floor, sending her crashing to the ground.

The things she registered before her vision blacked out was a scandalised looking Ronan appearing from inside the carriage and Acacia's worried voice whispering,

"Ronan! What _was_ that?"

Rather fortunately, Althea was not significantly damaged by her fall and a mere ten minutes later she was back on her feet, with only a dull ache in her crown and a vague sense of shock (and a rather less vague sense of embarrassment).

Rather less fortunately, the train was already pulling into the station at the Capitol, leaving her no time to confront her tributes about the distressing conversation she had overheard, or even to prepare them for the mayhem waiting outside the train doors.

Instead, she barely had time to reapply her fern lipstick, sending them a dazzling grin and giving them one piece of vital advice-

"Smile!"

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Ronan had not taken well to dozens of reporters flashing lights in his face and bombarding him with countless questions. Especially when said questions ranged from 'What do you think of this year's Great Capitol Design contestants?' to 'Can we have a close-up view of your muscles?"

That particular reporter had been on the receiving end of an obscure finger gesture, which Althea could only assume was rather obscene back in District 7.

Oddly enough, the reporters seemed to take to his obsolete personality- perhaps they thought it was 'rustic charm', or that it would help him in the arena.

Either way, Ronan was not enjoying the attention. It seemed to Althea that the more Capitolians in (what he would have called) silly outfits asked him ridiculous questions, the more aggravated he got. And the more aggravated he got, well, the thicker and faster the questions would come.

Acacia was also emitting some sort of charisma, doing her best to answer as many questions as possible and smiling as she did so.

In fact, those reporters who were not surrounding Ronan were flocking to Acacia like bees to honey.

It was rather fortunate that Althea had taken a vice tight grip on Acacia's arm, and managed to maintain it, otherwise she feared the poor girl may have been trampled on, or had an even worse fate befall her.

As it was, it took a great deal of time (and yelling, mostly on Ronan's part) to finally break free from the crowd of journalists so they could be prepped for the Tribute Parade.

* * *

Althea was a bundle of nerves at the Chariot Rides. Much to her chagrin, she had not been allowed to help her tributes prepare for the pressure or even to see their costumes beforehand.

Instead, she had been ushered to her seat (which had a spectacular view of the path the Chariots would take) and ordered to 'stay'.

She had been among unfamiliar faces and had banished her worries (particularly those about Acacia's well-being) and instead opted for trying to gain her tributes sponsors.

It wasn't going particularly well, as one could expect. Surprisingly enough, there were a few sponsors (one of them a rather rich looking elderly woman) who doted over Acacia, and she had collected a decent amount in pledges.

There were few more for Ronan. It seemed, despite the Capitol's adoration of his 'rough, country ways', there were relatively few people inclined to donate their money to him. Which was terribly unhelpful. However, it did mean that there were a few sponsors come forward with frankly outrageous sums of money.

But still, Althea knew that the sum she had amassed from both of her tributes combined would not be able to rival the sponsor money for even the girl from four.

It was with a sense of exhausted relief that she had watched the President make his speech and saw the first chariot, holding the Tributes from District 1, arrive.

She didn't pay all too much attention to the first six chariots, other than mentally noting down the occasional designer or brand, and smiling politely whenever a camera was turned her way for a reaction shot.

Althea held her breath until District Seven's chariot finally appeared. Much to her surprise but ultimate pleasure, both Ronan and Acacia were standing tall, with their hands linked. She was sending the crowd winning smiles and waves and he was, well, he was kind of glaring at everyone. But it was working.

And then Althea noticed their costumes and, for a good minute, she could not look away. It seemed that their designer had taken advantage of the tributes' muscled physiques. And not exactly in a way appropriate for teens. More in a way which made Althea understandably annoyed.

Ronan was clad in, well, he wasn't exactly clad in much at all. His upper body was bare, save a few stray leaves and vines, and had been covered in some kind of oil, which emphasised his tan and made his muscles shine. He was wearing a ragged pair of knee-length denim shorts which were slung questionably low on his hips. And that was it.

Acacia hadn't been much more fortunate. Although she had also been rubbed in oil and had vines draped over her arms, she was wearing a tight (and rather low cut) plaid crop top, which displayed most of her midsection, and tiny denim shorts. Her hair had been plaited into two long braids, which were hanging over her shoulders.

Any other time and Althea would have admired the looks immensely, but they were on her young tributes (for whom she had legal responsibility) she felt a rush of frustration. And it suddenly became startlingly clear to her why she hadn't been allowed to help Ronan and Althea prep.

But before she even had time to become annoyed, the President cleared his throat and began to start a long, rambling speech.

* * *

Althea sighed, slipping out of her heels and her dress and donning her robe, before crawling feebly into bed.

It had, quite possibly, been the longest and most tiring day of her life. Her tributes had been in the training room for the second (and final) day, preparing themselves for the arena the following morning.

Althea, however, had been half way across the Capitol, working hard to try and secure sponsorship deals for the pair. She had spent the majority of the day trying to wheedle pledges from narcissistic upper-class Capitolians and it had been, at times, expectedly frustrating, dull and even infuriating.

As she let her head sink into the silk pillow, she slowly felt all of the frustrations of the day drift away from her. Her eyes had just slipped shut when she was jolted awake by the sound of a muffled sob.

Instantly, Althea pushed the covers aside and crept towards her bedroom door. In her sleep filled state, she barely managed to open it and almost knocked over the lamp on her dresser in the process, but she eventually made it outside without incident.

The hallway in the District Seven Quarters was bathed in silvery moonlight, giving it an ethereal look and casting strange shadows across the room.

The sound rung out again, drawing her closer towards the door next to her own- Acacia's. As her tentative footsteps approached the sound quickly muffled, almost like the person doing all of the sobbing had stuffed their face into a pillow. Which, she suspected, was exactly what had happened.

"Acacia," she whispered gently, pushing open the door with a creak, "It's Althea. Are you alright?" The moment the words left her lips, the realisation that they were absolutely redundant hit her. Acacia was definitely not alright- people, _tributes the night before their games_ , don't cry when they're alright.

Yet the strained reply came with perhaps a tad too much enthusiasm, "Oh no, don't worry I'm fine, really you can go back to bed!"

Althea took a careful step into the room, letting the moonlight spill inside, illuminating the four-poster bed inside. And the two people on it.

"Acacia," her voice took a hint of urgency, "Who's in your bed?"

"Fuck off!" came another voice, male and angry but still clogged with tears, "Well? Are you just going to bloody stand there or leave?" His voice broke mid-sentence and his face came into the light.

It was Ronan. Althea could have slapped herself. Of course it was Ronan! Who else could have been in the District Seven apartments?

She cleared her throat, slowly moving closer to the bed, "Ronan, are you… do you want to talk about it?" He sent her a steely glare and then flung himself into a pillow, shielding his tear-stained face from view.

"Do you never bloody give up? I just shitting asked you to leave!" His muffled yell didn't come as much of a surprise to Althea and only prompted her to (rather cautiously) sit down on the bed next to him.

There was a moment of silence, and Althea could practically hear the cogs in Ronan's brain turning. She mentally thought of all of the actions he could take next, and the outcomes they would bring.

None of them were positive.

But, never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined what he did next.

Ronan suddenly flung himself on her, burying his face in her shoulder and sobbing quietly, almost knocking her backwards off the bed.

Instead of questioning it, Althea returned the embrace, doing her best to comfort him, whispering reassuringly, both to him and Acacia, and also to herself.

After about ten minutes, it seemed that Ronan came to his senses and he pulled back from Althea rather hastily, pointedly avoiding meeting her eyes.

"Well, I suppose you two are all right then? Ronan, you should probably be getting back to your room. You'll need all the sleep you can get for tomorrow," She smiled, watching as he left the room rather sheepishly, mumbling barely audible thanks to both his escort and his fellow tribute.

Althea was just about to follow him when a small but clear voice rang out in the silence, "Um, Miss Herriot? Are you still there?"

Althea replied in affirmation, her voice curious but slightly worried.

"Ronan said he thinks you overheard us on the train. About what he's planning on doing in the arena? Well, I've thought about it really hard, and there's no way I can let him try so, um, forgive me for asking, but could you see if you get any sponsors I have transferred to him?" Acacia's words spilled out of her mouth in a rush, yet Althea could tell she had spent a long time thinking about the subject.

She went to reassure her, to tell Acacia that there was no way she could be sure that she wouldn't survive, but somehow her voice didn't want to come out.

"It's okay," Acacia continued, the slight tremor in her voice and the solitary tear slipping down her face the only things betraying her emotion, "I knew the minute you called my name that I was already dead. I'm not really scared anymore. I just hope it's quick and dignified. But, could you maybe, please, um…"

"Yes?"

"Could you maybe, um, when this is all over, write to, um, Ivy Miller? Just tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry but I hope she finds someone else. That I just want her to be happy. More than anything. I'm really sorry… I would do it myself, but I can't, ah, exactly write."

Althea whispered softly, "Of course I will," valiantly attempting to ignore the tears streaming down her own face.

* * *

Althea sat, surrounded by other mentors and escorts in the Secondary Control Room. Barely ten minutes ago, she had said her last goodbyes to Acacia and Ronan, and she could still feel the tears shining in eyes.

A sudden shout from door snapped her out of her thoughts, breaking through the nervous tension in the room.

"What are you doing? Mister Miller you are _not permitted to access this area_!" A red-faced peacekeeper yelled at… Ronan, her tribute Ronan Miller, who she had said goodbye to _for the last_ _time_ not even quarter of an hour ago.

The burly peacekeeper looked rather unwilling to use his gun, most likely due to fact that Ronan should be in the catacombs and, in about fifteen minutes, _would be entering the arena_. And a bullet through the leg would dramatically affect the Games.

Ronan barrelled past the peacekeepers, his eyes racing as he scanned the room, before his eyes settled on Althea and he began to sprint towards her.

" _There has been a security breach in the Secondary Control Centre! All officials please report to the Secondary Control Centre! Do not shoot the tribute!"_ A crackling voice boomed from a speaker somewhere above her head.

Ronan continued running towards her, undeterred, hand outstretched. He skidded to a halt in front of her, a maniacal grin on his face.

"Here, Miss Herriot, Acacia and I wanted you to have it. Don't be too sad, alright? She deserves to get out more than I do, and I'll make sure it happens," he pressed his palm into hers, before turning around and holding his hands up in mock defeat, sending a snarky smirk at the puffing group of peacekeepers.

"Alright, you got me you fuckers! Take me to my death!" He spat, even as the peacekeepers restrained him and began to drag him out of the room and back to the catacombs. Just as they pulled him around a sharp corner and out of her sight, Ronan turned and sent her a small, begrudging smile and a cheeky wink.

The room had been thrown into chaos by Ronan's sudden arrival (and even more sudden departure) and nobody noticed as Althea all but collapsed in a heap on the ground, slowly opening her palm. She let out a choked chuckle; a small carved statue of a squirrel lay cradled in her hand- the same one she had seen Ronan making on the train.

She must have sat there for a good while, oblivious to the outside world, because the next thing she heard was the President's booming voice.

"Let the Fifth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

 _Ronan Miller won the Fifth Annual Hunger Games with five kills, all of whom were older than himself. There are no other remaining records of the Fifth Games and thus the circumstances surrounding the death of his District Partner, Acacia Cardew, are, as of yet, unknown. Some claim that it was, in fact, the Victor himself who killed his district partner, and although this is entirely possible, there is no evidence of this, and so Acacia's death remains a mystery._

* * *

 _AN: Whew that was the longest chapter we've had so far! By the way, sorry about leaving Acacia's death open like that, I felt it was the right way to end it. Anyway, we're back from holiday so you can expect the next update pretty soon. As always, please review; constructive criticism always really helps us write! Until the next time!_


	6. Edison

6th Annual Hunger Games

Victor: Edison

District: 3

Gender: male

Age: 15

Beetee looks at me through his glasses, his eyes cynical. Ever since the Quell was announced, he's been on edge, in and out of the unoccupied house at the far end of the Village, the one we converted into a lab.

"Wiress and I, are you sure?" He asks sceptically, his eyebrows raised. I reckon he's more afraid than doubtful, but too proud to let on. I hesitate slightly before raising my head to meet his eyes.

"Positive." I say, my voice coming out a raspy whisper. Old age hasn't been kind to me. "I'm really sorry, Beetee." He nods, wringing his hands in his lap nervously and tapping his feet on the floor.

"How can you tell?" He asks after what seems an age.

"It has to be. I'm too old for good television. Wiress is going in anyway: it's her or Elissia and we both know, if it came down to it, she'd volunteer in a heartbeat."

"I don't think she will, Eddie." He says doubtfully. "She knows it's too risky, what with last year. They don't want a reminder of that. If she goes into the Games she'll already be dead, but if she volunteers? Half of Three might be too." Neither of us need to specify which event we're talking about.

"That's the thing. Elissa's still young, only a few years out of the arena, that's all. They can still use her, but Wiress? I think she'll be reaped anyway. This is the optimum opportunity for the Capitol to purge Panem of the Victors who have surpassed their uses, and those who they fear have been swayed by the beat of the Mockingjay's wings. We try, Beetee, but the knowledge of your involvement with Thirteen has fallen into the hands of the Capitol. They know exactly what you are. They know everything. And they will squash the rebellion best they can."

Beetee looks at me sadly, a soft gleam in his eyes, the only thing about him that remains unchanged, even through the years, and for a second he's the frightened boy I pulled from the arena nearly forty years ago.

"I'm going to die, aren't I, Eddie?" He asks quietly.

"Oh, no," I shuffle over to him, putting an arm over his shoulder. "You're not going to die. I'm not going to let you. I'm not going to let that happen to you."

* * *

 _"Come on, Beetee, you can do this," I coaxed him as he sobbed into his pillow. "I trust you. I believe in you. I know you can do this." He let out a cry, burying his face further into the fabric as the tears rolled down his cheeks._

 _"I'm going to die, aren't I, Edison?" He mumbled, his voice choked with fear._

 _"No, Beetee, you're not. I'm not going to let that happen to you."_

 _"But everyone dies, everyone apart from one," He lifted his face to look at me._

 _"And it's going to be you," I replied confidently._

 _"What about-" He began, but I cut him off._

 _"Your District partner doesn't want to win. She doesn't want to and so she shall not. You, however, can win and you will win. Come on. You're smart. You can do this, Beetee, please, for me."_

* * *

Neither of us speak for what seems an age. Finally, Beetee wipes his eyes on his shirt sleeve and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose, his face burning with resignation.

"And what of Miss Everdeen?" I inquire delicately, my hand leaving his shoulder at last. He gives a shaky laugh.

"We were all doomed, the moment she stepped on to the stage at the Reapings." He smiles bluntly.

"Yes, but what of the Alliance of the Thirteen?" I halter on the last words, because even though he's assured me on countless occasions that we can talk freely in this room, my knowledge of the Capitol's presence is too great to become loose-tongued.

"I have agreed Abernathy that, should I be reaped I will do whatever it takes to get the Mockingjay out of the Arena alive." His shakes his head lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You do realize, Eddie, that with over half the Victors in on the Alliance, the odds of Miss Everdeen escaping the Arena are very high, thus drastically reducing the chance of my survival."

"I know. I- I know." I hold up my hands in defeat. "But if this really is the Second Rebellion, if we really are going to overthrow the Capitol like our ancestors tried to do all those years ago… Well, there won't be a place for Victors in the New Panem anyway." Beetee lets out a shaky laugh.

"I suppose you're right." He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, a gesture so familiar it makes my breath catch in my throat. "Rather die for what I believe in than live in a world where I am a stark reminder of everything citizens of Panem are desperate to forget. I guess, in some ways, that makes me the lucky one." He pauses, before asking me something I know has been plaguing his mind ever since he knocked on my door this morning. "Look after Elissia for us, when we're gone, will you?"

 _Of course,_ I want to say. _Course I'll look after our girl. Course I'll keep her safe. Course I'll get her out of this._ Except I won't. I can't. None of us are coming out of this alive, whether we're reaped or not, because they are going to make us burn. All of us. The Capitol first and if we survive that then the Rebellion Leaders. The world is closing in on us and they will destroy us, one by one.

"You know I'll try-" I start to say, the nervous way my eyes shift around the room the only thing giving me away.

"No," Beetee's angry and that frightens me. His fists clench and unclench, his face contorted with a strong conviction. "Protect her, Eddie, like you protected me. I've had my chance, my life, now give her hers!" He starts off whispering, but the scream rises in his throat and before he can control it, he's shouting at me.

"We're going to die, Beetee, every last one of us. Elissia was doomed the moment she was called to the Reaping Stage seven years ago. Just like every other person before her. She may have gotten out of the arena alive, but no one comes out whole Beetee. You should know as well as anyone," I struggle to control my breathing as I continue, "Major depression isn't easy to cure, not when you don't have the right medicine, Beetee, the arena _changes_ you. The illness is every much a part of her now as her hair. She'll probably never escape it. She's failed three times already and if it wasn't for Wiress catching the brief interlude in her screams and having the good sense to knock down her door, then she wouldn't have failed at all. The Capitol have people to fix that gash in her head. We both know it. But they don't want it fixed, and so it won't be, not ever. And where does that leave Elissia? On seven different painkillers and four anti-depressants, none of which work properly but they're the best we goddam have."

My voice softens slightly, "Her daughter has been sick for four years, _four years_ , Beetee and she's not getting any better. She won't recover, you and I both know that much, it's just a matter of how prolonged her suffering will be. So tell me, Beetee, what kind of a life is that? And how can we hope to save her from it?" I take a deep breath.

"No, you're right," He sighs, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. "Just, if it... comes down to it, make sure... Make sure it's quick."

* * *

 _I struggled furiously at the rope binding me, snarling at the tributes from One and Two who were standing around me and laughing, jeering even._

 _"Silly little boy," Satine mocked me. "I... wonder," a cruel smirk slipped onto her face, "Did he_ really _think he could win to, what?, make his Mama proud?" She shook her head disdainfully. "Silly little boy, no more than a gutter rat really."_

 _"Makes you wonder if he's got anyone watching at home?" Meinir asked. "Brothers, sisters, friends? Not many, no doubt. Not even a girl?" he grinned, baring his teeth in a way which could only be described as savage._

 _"Don't fucking like girls," I growled, sending him a snarky smile._

 _"Oh," Satine looked briefly taken aback, but almost at once more gleeful, "You're one of those."_

 _"So, am I more your type, Three?" Royal smirked, spinning a knife between his fingers, and I resisted the urge to tell him that he was_ exactly _my type. And he knew it too, the smug son of a bitch. He crouched down to whisper in my ear._

 _"I have to kill you. You know that, don't you, Eddie? The Hunger Games and all that. I'm sorry it had to be me, but that's the way the game is played." He stood back up, brushing his hair from his eyes._

 _I was reeling from his sudden proximity and I didn't notice that Meinir had grabbed my collar and flipped me. I didn't properly realise until my world lurched violently as I was twisted face first into the dirt, the ropes digging into my wrists._

 _"Mind if I have this one?" Satine asked. "Victor's third blood, you know." Meinir shrugged his shoulders._

 _"As long as I get Royal when the time comes." He shot a malicious grin in the aforementioned's direction._

 _"He," Royal seemed hesitant, his eyes flickering between Satine's blades and my bound wrists, "He could be more useful dead than alive, lead us to the cannon fodder."_

 _Satine's eyes widened slightly, and she snarked in her usual mocking tone, "What, has big bad Royal suddenly gone soft? If you won't do it I will," The challenge hung thick in the air._

 _I lifted my face from the ground, spitting out a mouthful of leaves and glaring at Satine, a sarcastic smile on my (admittedly rather grimy) face, "Oh don't mind him, he's getting all sentimental because we just so happened to, how do you Ones say it? 'Hook up' in the bathroom after training once... or twice."_

 _Meinir let out a derisive snort, not even considering validating my response with anger, "Like he'd go for you, Three. You're hardly_ female _are you?"_

 _"You cool with this, One?" Satine asked, ignoring me completely, "Can't wait to tear his pretty little eyes out,._

 _But Royal had his head bent, seemingly finding his shoes (or lack thereof) very interesting. I know he and I are both thinking of exactly the same thing - the sweat dripping into his eyes, the blood staining the sink, the cold wall and how it felt against his back, the fire and the fireworks as I stepped closer and closer. His eyes flickered to the steel blade Satine was pulling out of its sheath and the de-hinged smile on her face, and his body snapped into action, his hand flying through the air as he cut clean through her wrist, sending her hand and the sword tumbling to the ground._

 _"What the fuck?" Meinir shouted, pulling out his sword and swinging it menacingly. as Satine screeched in agony, blood flowing thick and fast from her hand. "What the fuck are you doing?"_

 _"I did tell you," I muttered, averting my eyes from the blood coating Satine's arm and flowing onto her clothes, "Bathrooms, after training, made out once or twice and well..." Satine jerked and sank to her knees, unnoticed by her allies._

 _"You- you what?" Meinir spluttered, his cheeks reddening and his eyes widening comically._

 _"Two weeks left to live," Royal muttered, averting his gaze. "We're both about as straight as a circle. Just figures."_

 _My face twisted into a manic smile and I once again hoisted myself out of the dirt, opened my mouth, and began to scream. Because, no matter how mixed my feelings for him were, Royal was about to get his throat cut by Meinir, who was advancing on him with a knife._

 _Because Satine was still on the ground, writhing in pain and sobbing, her beautiful face contorted with lines of anguish._

 _Because, after two weeks in the arena, my stress levels were pretty high and sometimes you just need to let it go. I yelled until I had no breath left, shrieking at the top of my lungs until my voice cracked and I dragged in more air to let off another anguished shout._

 _"The fuck are you doing, Three?" Meinir snarled, shaking his head, momentarily turning away from Royal. "You do know that wrecking our eardrums isn't going to save you, so shut the hell up!"_

 _"That's not the plan." I rasped as my screams slowly morphed into laughter. A howl echoed through the arena and I scarcely suppressed a grin. "Cause now I'm gonna make you_ scream _."_

 _And then they came. First the tracker-jackers, then the monkeys, then the bloodhounds, the birds, the horses, the bears. Every mutt I could find in this whole god damned arena and I had hijacked them all. Rewrote them, reprogrammed them, recoded them. And they were mine. Mine to control, mine to make kill._

 _"Get them!" I hissed. "Kill them. Kill them all."_

* * *

Ajax's hand reaches out hesitantly before diving into the Reaping bowl. He has to fish around for a while before his fingers fall on one of the two slips of parchment. Wiress is staring dead ahead of her and Elissia is shaking with fear, her eyes darting constantly to her left where her sickly daughter is being restrained by heavily armed Peacekeepers.

"And the female tribute," Ajax's voice trembles slightly. He's been our escort since Wiress' win over two decades ago, and though none of us can really stand him, he's family in an odd, twisted sort of way."Wiress Router."

There's a commotion as Imogen is released from the Peacekeepers' clutch and she stumbles forward into her mother's arms, who is choking on her own relief and sobbing for the woman who is somewhere between a mother and a sister and a friend, and at the same time, all at once. Wiress mounts the stage, and Beetee stiffens beside me as his best friend wipes away her tears for the camera. I rest a hand on his shoulder and he leans into the touch slightly.

For a moment, I imagine what it would be like to volunteer. The horror in Beetee's eyes would quickly morph into gratitude and finally understanding as I hobble to the stage, leaning on my stick for support. When _Beetee Latier_ is called up to join Wiress as the tributes for the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games, he glances at me and gives a slight shake of his head, as if he's telling me _no._

There are no goodbyes in the Justice Building. Lana screams her thanks at Wiress as she's dragged inside, and Beetee's brother just stands rigid, letting the tears fall. Elissia kisses Imogen's forehead for what will be the last time, putting on a brave face for the cameras and despite herself flashing the finger at the journalists. No one comes for me.

* * *

 _"Where is he? Where's my tribute? Where's my_ Victor _?" I demanded furiously, slamming my fists down on the table._

 _"I'm afraid, Mr Gates, that Beetee Latier is currently-"_

 _"I don't give a fuck!" I yelled. "I've spent three weeks in that bloody Control Room to get that boy home, I'm not going to be told to_ come back later _, not by you, not by anyone, got it? Now, Let. Me. In."_

 _"Edison?" A voice called from the other side of the door. "Is that you?" The screaming started then, the poor boy yelling himself hoarse as he cried for me. I glared at the Capitol nurse, before shoving past her and into Beetee's hospital room._

 _"Yes, yes, it's me, I'm here, Beetee, I'm here." I reassured him, stroking his hair, as a hand shot out to grab mine. The shouts were instantly quelled as he looked at me through tear filled eyes._

 _"Edison," He breathed._

 _"Yes," I replied calmly, squeezing his hand._

 _"I killed them, Edison." He said quietly, guiltily. "All six of them. They're dead. I killed them."_

 _"I know, I know you did, but so did I, when it was me, so did all the thirty five kids who came before you. They were Careers, Beetee, they knew what they were getting themselves into. It's not your fault. Don't beat yourself up about them. You're alive, Beetee. You're alive and you're coming home, that's all that matters. You're coming home."_

* * *

"Ajax, would you please pass the sugar?" Elissia requests. His hands quiver as he passes it to her, his lip trembling. She tips almost half of it into her tea before it slips from her grasp and shatters on the table. An Avox comes and cleans up the mess, shaking off Elissia's rushed apologies and sweeping the jagged glass into the bin.

The rest of dinner is a solemn affair. No one speaks, but the atmosphere is heavy, thick and tired with unheard promises and regrets. Gone is the magic of the first meal, the one thing I look forward to each year. The expressions on the faces of the tributes, the tributes who have only ever tasted tesserae grain and water, who are heading towards certain doom, as they delight in the new found delicacies of the Capitol.

The time to watch the recaps of the Reaping comes far too fast, and before I know it we're settling down in the Viewing Car to watch.

"Thank god," Elissia breathes as Gloss' name is drawn, hiding her face with the shame of audifying her thoughts. No one blames her though, Calix is safe. Her expression only worsens as Cashmere steps up next to her brother.

"Poor girl," Wiress muses. "Going up against someone she loves." Beetee's eyes flicker as he glances at me, but I ignore him, instead focusing on the screen as Enobaria joins Brutus on the stage in Two.

I blink back tears when Beetee's hand clasps Wiress' as they turn to face the cameras, and I full out sob into my jacket when Mags volunteers for Annie with a point and a sad smile, hugging Finnick before being dragged into the Justice Building.

Genera is crying as she walks up onto the stage, and Amery is little comfort as he wipes away tears. Lukas is only semiconscious when his name is called, and Mara is blank and distant as she hustled off stage. And Johanna, swearing at the camera, screaming obscenities into the microphone until Blight has the good sense to pull her away.

Cecelia looks resolutely ahead as her children are torn from her, and she puts an arm around Woof as she joins him. Eavan and Summer look resigned to their fate, and I can't even remember if they're part of the Alliance or not. Elena and Aries take to the stage and the crowd cheers with the first sign of District unity for nearly forty years.

Seeder and Chaff stand tall and proud – they're from Eleven and that's what they do. What they have to do. And then we get to Twelve and Peeta steps forward predictably to take Haymitch's place and Katniss has a tear running down her cheek and the screen goes blank, but not before we see a whole district with their three fingers raised in honour of their sacrifices.

I glance sideways and Wiress has her hand lifted and her head bent in silent respect. I bring my hand to my lips and hold it up to join Wiress'.

* * *

"Eddie?" A patter of feet. The voice is soft, anxious. "Are you awake?" Hopeful, terrified.

"Lissie," I breathe a sigh of relief. "Course. Are you okay?" I reach out and flick on my bedside lamp, and the room is filled with a soft, amber glow. She's standing in the doorway uncertainly, dressed in her pyjamas and her hair pulled back off her face, clutching a familiar faded diary in one hand and a pencil in the other. Her eyes are red and puffy – she's been crying.

"No," She whispers. "Could I maybe-" She doesn't finish, but she doesn't need to.

"Come here," I answer, and she collapses onto my bed. I instinctively wrap my arms around her, pulling her close as she buries her face in my chest.

"What have you been drawing?" I ask, gesturing to the book still held protectively against her body. It was her district token, pages and pages of it were filled when she was in a state of panic in her arena. Sometimes she writes, but the pictures are the best. It's a shame, really. She could have been an amazing artist if her name hadn't come out of that bowl. But of course it did, and now here we are.

She opens her book and shyly passes it to me. My breath hitches in my throat because the image is so perfect, down to the freckle above his lip and the streak of dark in the platinum blonde hair.

"How did you-"

"I was watching recaps of the Games with Wiress and we came across yours. I'm sorry. You've never talked about your Games or your arena and Beetee _did_ try to stop us." I examine her face, looking for the hint of disgust or rejection but she shows neither.

"How- how much did you watch?" I question, but she just shakes her head.

"You should have just told us." Elissia says after an age.

"That I'm gay?" I laugh dryly. "Won't make much difference now."

"You know it wouldn't have mattered to us. Wiress or Beetee or I." She trailed off, her eyebrows rising. "Beetee knows, doesn't he?" I don't even try to deny it. She grins, and I stare at her for a second to make sure it really is her.

"I haven't seen you smile in a long time." She catches my eye and grins again.

"I'm just… I don't know. I'm just sure it will all be over soon." She pauses, before slowly ripping out the page and handing it to me. "This is for you. Good night, Eddie." She kisses my cheek before standing and walking out, and I'm left staring open mouthed after her, wondering how on earth Elissia Jackson managed to get the picture of Royal to look so right.

* * *

 _I twisted the tap off and turned around, drying my hands of the soft towel (the cost of which could have fed my entire family for a week, back in Three, probably our cat too). I hadn't even noticed him coming in, but there he was, calmly washing the blood off his knuckles and wiping the sweat from his eyes. The boy from One, classically handsome with his platinum hair, bright green eyes and fair skin. And, of course, a bleeding gorgeous smile._

 _"Oh, hi," He said, waving me off, and my eyes trailed down, down to the muscles bulging under his skin, his torso, and lower still._

 _"You're one of those, huh? Like what you see, Three?" He caught me looking, sending me a knowing smirk and I blushed furiously. "It's okay, I'm like that too." He grinned and I blushed even harder._

 _"So, um," He trailed off, scratching his hair awkwardly, and I couldn't help finding him incredibly attractive. "I'm Royal Barrington." He held out his hand and smiled, rather cockily but with a hint of genuinity underneath._

 _"Edison Gates," I smiled back, hesitantly shaking his hand._

 _"So, there's only two weeks left to live, for one of us at least," He twirled his thumbs, fumbling to find the right words. "And I was thinking, considering we both like guys, maybe we could... You know..." I couldn't help but laugh- the boy from One two embarassed to even_ ask _properly?_

 _"In here?" I asked incredulously, but one glance at his face showed me he was deadly serious. And then I thought about it, and what could go wrong? He was right - I only had two weeks left to live, tops. "Sure, why not?" I shrugged, cut off as lips covered my own._

 _It didn't last as long as I hoped it would, but he was a good kisser and I found myself craving more. I moved forward this time, and he shrunk back against the wall, a devilish glint in his eyes and he felt the cold tiles against his back and me against his chest and our lips met again and the fireworks exploded in my mind._

 _We broke apart, god knows how much longer, panting, sticky and shocked. Royal gasping and staring into my eyes with burning intensity._

 _"It wish I had met you earlier Edison, fuck, maybe another life. We'll meet again and we can have a proper story," he sounded despondent and wistful, his hands shaking slightly._

 _And well I responded the only way I knew how because Goddammit I was about to die, "I think I might have loved you, we could've been so much more."_

 _"I think I might have loved you too," he leant forwards and pressed his lips on mine, sparks shooting between us even as our tears rolled down our faces. Tears for a love lost- a love never had._

* * *

"I'm scared, Ed," Beetee says, shaking. His eyes are wide, staring, unseeing, at a place in the distance. "I don't want to go back. Please don't make me go back." His hands are curled around a mug of hot chocolate, and a blanket is draped over his trembling shoulders.

"Look at me, Beetee," I whisper, placing a hand under his chin and lifting his face so his eyes meet mine. "You went into those Games because of a bad twist of luck but you came out a legend. If anyone can do this, you can. Use the arena, you know what to do. We'll get you out of there, you and the others, I promise, you just have to give us time. I've pulled some strings and I can get you what need. You have to trust us. You're ready for this."

"You'll be there the whole time?" He asks.

"In the Control Room. Yes. Just ask for it and I'll get it to you, I swear, alright?"

"If things go to shit, get out. You and Lissie. Just forget about us and go."

"No, I'm going to stay, I'm going to help," I insist.

"Ed, you can't help us if you're dead. We need you alive." Beetee clutches my hand. "I'll see you when this has all blown over, okay? In Thirteen, or back here, or maybe in Three. I'll see you later."

* * *

The Bloodbath is full of tears and apologies as old friends and former enemies raise weapons against each other. Crushed throat, splintered ribs, cracked skull. Knives buried in chests, tridents in necks. The only sense of family I had known for many years ripped to bloody pieces.

I watch as my allies, my friends, fall. Mara, Aries, Seeder, Cecelia, Lukas, Elena, Eavan, Woof. I cry shamelessly as their faces light up the sky, the anthem playing, their screams sounding in my head, even though they've been dead hours and I remain the only one who can hear their yells. I'm the only one here who can remember a time before Mags, and I put my fist through the wall when she hobbles into the mist and throw half a tantrum when Blight hits the force field.

Victors storm from the Control Room in anger when they lose their tributes, those in on the Alliance vanishing to one of the Safe Houses we set up and others head back to the apartments, most likely to order some alcohol and perhaps a girl or two. Some stay, support their Districts and help their friends. In some way, it's almost like any other Hunger Games.

Except that it isn't. It's so different. Now it's our friends, our enemies, our families. It's personal.

* * *

Elissia is suffering from the onset of a panic attack as Cashmere and Gloss sneak up behind Wiress, pressing buttons on her machine furiously and screaming _what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?_ Calix is trying desperately to reassure her, but that just makes her sob harder because it's his District and his tributes and even though he's stroking her back and whispering in her ear there's nothing any of us can do.

The sponsor funds have run dry, so we just watch as Gloss grabs her head, yanks it back, and then the knife finds her throat. I've watched seventy-five Hunger Games, I've seen and mentored one hundred and thirty-eight kids go through them and watched all but three of them die, but not like this. Never like this.

Someone is screaming. It could be me. It's probably Lissie. Wiress falls limp as Beetee lets out a strangled cry, her cannon sounding and Katniss loading her bow with a furious shout. Gloss collapses and Johanna's axe finds Cashmere's chest, and they are already forgotten by the time the two cannons have finished ringing.

We hardly notice when the Cornucopia begins to turn. Supplies and Victors and weapons are flying everywhere, and Katniss goes flailing into the water, the vitals on Haymitch's screen showing what we already know, that's she's drowning, and this was for nothing, it was all for nothing, because now Mags is dead and Woof is dead and Wiress is dead and Katniss will be soon too and we've fucking lost.

It stops as quickly and as suddenly as it began.

"Let's just get what we need, and get off the bloody island." Johanna says, helping Katniss out of the water, _Katniss_ , who not two minutes ago was as good as dead. I glance over at Elissia's machine but the vitals have gone dead and the screen is blank.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinches and bats me away, her own fingers closing around her throat as her eyes bulge.

"It was my fault!" She gasps. "I _killed_ her, Edison! I killed her! I can't _breathe_!" I don't think she feels her head hitting the floor, her eyes go blank and she sits on the cold ground, already half gone, tears that she can't feel rolling down her face. She even doesn't hear Harini screaming for a doctor (I don't even know what she's still doing here – she lost Elena hours ago and we all know the endgame is near). Haymitch helpfully covers her mouth with his hand and nods at me.

"Get her out. We don't have long." He hisses quietly, glancing at the Career Victors just two machines down.

"Take her, Calix," I turn to District One's most recent Victor, who is looking surprisingly cool despite the fact that he no longer has a tribute. "You know where the safe houses are, so take her there and make sure she's okay. We'll finish up here without you."

I watch as he carefully lifts up her lifeless form, carrying her away, and I take in her dark curls and olive skin for what I know will be the last time. Then I'm crying, I'm crying for Wiress, I'm crying for Elissia, I'm crying for Beetee. I'm crying for our District, which has lost and will lose so much in our fight for freedom. I'm crying for my family, who I let die because I said no, and for Wiress', who gave up completely, for Elissia's, who watched their girl rip herself apart. I'm crying for Royal, who kissed me even as the last canary pierced his neck. For the love I could have had.

But it's when I see Beetee's face, as Wiress illuminates the sky that night, that I am undone.

* * *

"Shit."

The vitals on my machine have gone haywire. He's slipping into a coma, I can tell, blood flowing from the wound Enobaria inflicted and his heart rate is through the roof. I slam my fist against the screen, and if it wasn't Capitol's best it would have crumpled.

"Come on, girl, work it out," Haymitch is hissing. "Come on." Katniss looks from Beetee to Finnick to the tree and back again.

 _Remember who the real enemy is. Remember. The real enemy. Remember who the real enemy is. The real enemy. Come on, Katniss, remember who. Remember. Please try to remember._

Realisation dawns in her eyes and she snatches up the end of the cut wire. Haymitch snaps into action.

"Time to go. They'll be down on us in a minute." And he's gone. I share a look with Isabella Jade.

"Was that really it?" I ask, incredulous. She just shrugs and gives a short laugh, before turning back to the screen.

"She isn't." Harini splutters as Katniss ties the end of the wire to her arrow and loads it onto her bow.

"I think she is." I reply, my mouth falling open. She's counting down. Five. Four. Three. Two. _One_.

She lets the arrow fly and in exactly thirteen seconds the whole arena is gone.

The door crashes inwards and I know time's up. People have said that your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but I never believed them until now.

 _A rainy day in June. The Reaping. A slip. A name. Edison Gates._

Peacekeepers pour in, guns raised, and people start to scream.

 _A stolen moment in the bathroom. Lips on fire. Lust. Burning. Royal._

Victors fall around me. Old friends and older enemies.

 _A stage, a crown, an audience. I tasted Victory, and guilt, and hatred._

Harini, Cordelia, Victoria, Ella Jade, still fighting, going out with a bang even as they tumble to the ground, their blood and brains splattering the tiles.

 _A crying tribute and my first taste of hope. Pillows and hot chocolate and reassurance._

People are trying to run, I think I am too, but the doors are locked and there's no way out. Massacre all because of that one arrow.

 _A girl stepping onto the stage at her Victory Ceremony. Eyes blank. Face limp. Horror and fear._

I'm fighting blindly, punching and kicking even ripping out an eye, as they struggle to sedate me.

 _A house in the Village, filled with muffled screams and a child's laughter and a girl's blood._

I scrabble furiously for something, anything, to use as a weapon, my old age evaporating.

 _An announcement, a card, a Quell. Crumbling hopes of a future and freedom._

They're pulling out guns now. It won't be long.

 _A rainy day in June. The Reaping. A slip. A name. Only this time, it isn't mine._

* * *

 _AN: Sorry for the wait! The next chapter is in the making, and should hopefully be up in the next two weeks. Thank you so much for reading - every view, favourite, follow and especially review means so much to us and really inspires us to keep writing. If you are reading but not reviewing, just consider it, cause it really makes our day and doesn't take longer than thirty seconds. Maybe just a note to tell us you're reading, what you like, what we could improve? (Also, we just couldn't resist - Wiress Router, Wireless Router, get it? Yeah, it's bad but c'mon)_


	7. Athenodorus

7th Annual Hunger Games

Victor: Athenodorus

District: 2

Gender: male

Age: 18

Slate's only seven when he decides he's had enough.

It's not that he hates his parents. He just has a liking issue with them.

In that he doesn't.

So one evening, when his Ma's crying and his Daddy's shouting and Slate can't even work out why, everything gets too much and too loud and he packs it all in and does what Ma should have done years ago. He gets out.

He hates leaving Malc, but his brother is nearly eighteen and already working day in day out at the quarry just to bring in enough to pay for new clothes, because Slate's growing and he's growing fast. If anything he's doing him a favour. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

District Two is a dangerous place, especially during the Dark Days. There are Peacekeepers on every corner, and at night there's screaming and gunshots and too many people turning the other way as if that will make it all disappear. Strict food rationing and ever lengthening work hours with ever decreasing pay hit the rich hard and the poor harder.

You can sense the anger and tiredness in the air and the violent fights that outbreak on the streets end, more often than not, with a bullet from a Peacekeeper's gun.

The first time he's involved in one of these fights, it's terrifying and he's eleven and shaking, but his fists are hard and fast and he gets in a few good punches before he forgets to dodge a right hook and passes out, cracking his head on the graveled floor.

When wakes up, he's lying in an alleyway and there's a boy sitting and leaning over him, a tall, scrawny street urchin with the most ridiculous hair cut and his eyes screwed together as he shakes Slate's shoulders just a little bit too roughly.

"I'm Wolf," he says cheerfully, after reasurring Slate that the damage is 'nothing permanent' as he helps him to his feet and brushes down his tattered shirt awkwardly.

In the seven years that follow, he gets into more close scrapes with the lanky, cheerfully destructive boy who pulled him out of the gutter than he could've ever imagined. They become strangley comfortable with the inside of the cell, but at the end of the day a bed behind bars is better than no bed at all. They're never put away for very long either. They have no registered address and no legal guardians so, short of shooting them on the spot, there's not really much the Peacekeepers can do.

(It probably also has something to do with the fact that the Head Peacekeeper's daughter has a massively transparent crush on Wolf, but they figure that if they ignore it, it might go away).

(It doesn't. They're fifteen when Slate finds them, half naked, sucking each other's faces off in the corner of the old shed. He doesn't say anything just immediately turns, his hands slammed over his eyes as he blindly searches for the door.)

There are rules in District 2, it's just that, with the right attitude, none of them have to apply to Slate and Wolf. That is, apart from the Reaping, Slate isn't even sure if he's still on the list. Maybe his parents took him for dead and he was written off. Maybe he's been added to it again from the Peacekeeper records. He could even be on there twice.

Not that it matters anyway. Every year, the Games pass them over. It's not like Slate's really afraid, the panic seems pointless as he stands, just one in a crowd of thousands, with nothing to fight for and nothing to lose. Sure, if they go into the Games, they'll die, but even if they don't they'll probably die anyway, so it doesn't make much of a difference. It's not that they like that Games. They don't. They just don't care.

Until everything changes. (When Wolf visits him in the Justice Building afterward, he forces a smile and says "That was the stupidest, bravest thing you've ever done.")

He doesn't know why (maybe it's compassion or maybe he's just suicidal), but the boy is only fourteen and crying like he's about to shit himself so Slate does the only logical thing and calls out I volunteer before his common sense can come back and tell him to shut up.

Being the centre of attention is unnerving. Every face is suddenly turned towards him, shocked, confused and disbelieving. Even the escort in her fancy heels and beehive hair can't seem to decide if she should ignore him or succumb to excitement- is this even allowed?

And then she decides that yes, this must be allowed because the next moment Slate is pushing past Wolf and stepping up on stage and when they ask him his name he hesitates only for a second.

"Athenodorus."

And then Slate isn't Slate anymore, but someone new, the name from the old story Malc used to tell him before bed, the one about the Roman King, and deep in the crowd of adults his brother's eyes burn with recognition and then horror and then pride, and he's the first to start clapping but he certainly isn't alone because the whole crowd is hollering and for the first time in seven years, the cheers are real.

His Games are a blur. Tiberius is alright, slightly insane but he figures it could be worse. He could be stuck with Adonis for a mentor, or, god forbid, one of those poncy Capitol escorts. He does begin to wonder if he would have been better off with no mentor at all because Tiberius isn't exactly helpful. He spent most of their first meeting standing in the corner of the train carriage, looking immensely bored and uninterested with the whole ordeal, all whilst maintaining his unnerving grimace.

Athenodorus gets into a fight with the boy from Four on the second day of training, when he's leaving the room and hears the snide mutter of "gutter rat". He's not going to fight back but then he remembers where he is and that for the first time in his life he has something to lose, and he breaks Four's nose before the Gamemakers can intervene, and if Tiberius scolds him, it's only for a second and no one else sees the twitch of a smile he receives when he tells his mentor what happened and why he has blood all down his front. (In his defence, most of it wasn't actually his.)

His Games are the first time they use a desert (and it won't be the last) but there's almost nowhere to hide and the heat is sweltering and overpowering and it's not an easy game to survive, but once you do it's an easy one to win. (He doesn't let himself think about what would have happened if he had Ronan's arena or Edison's or any of the other four that came before them, mainly because he knows the only way he would've come back to two would have been in a coffin.)

Most of the other tributes fall into a trance and Athenodorus is met with a feverish, delirious mess when it comes down to the last two. The absent, terrified girl from Seven is no match for his brutal and desperate attack in the light of his realisation that he might actually have a shot of getting back for Wolf.

He kills three people in the Games. There was the sobbing boy from nine, the girl from seven right at the end and his district partner. He was never meant to kill her, she was from home, she was real but then she cracked under the pressure and the scorching heat and everything else just disappeared.

(There are still those in Two who look at him with burning eyes and haunted faces. They never forgave him. They never let him forget.)

He doesn't remember being pulled out of the arena. One second he's just another tribute, dead where he stands. And the next Seven's guts are spilling down his sword and onto his hands and there are trumpets playing a fanfare and a blast of gold light across the sky and then he's in front of a crowd at the Victory Ceremony and he's being asked a dozen questions a minute and he can hardly remember anything other than the look on Seven's face as she notices her insides spilling out.

But then Tiberius drags him aside and slaps him across the face (in the friendly, fatherly kind of way) and reminds him that if he doesn't want to end up like Adonis, so drugged up for official occasions that he can hardly walk straight, he has to get his shit together.

And somehow, that helps. So he smiles at the cameras, he preens at all the rich old women and thanks the Capitol in his speeches and does his best to do what a good Victor would do. And that works in the Capitol, they lap it up and he may not be the most charming or handsome Victor but they like him.

It's different in Two, it's always different in Two. The smiles are there when he comes back, loud and wide with too much teeth but they're there for the cameras and to them he's just a ticket to the free food that comes with the victory.

He doesn't belong in Two anymore, he's too tame, like a dancing pony made up to prance about in from of the Capitol, and at the same time he's a monster. Even before, he belonged with the people on the streets, the poorest of the poor. But after the games, even they look at him with a mix of fear and pity and disgust. There's not much of a social group for child murderers (not for another few decades at least).

So when he walks through the streets he ignores the spitting and insults that fly his way from the upper part of town, under the cover of a cough or a vicious glare, and he wants to yell at them that if he could bring their

preppy little princess back for them, he would. But he can't so they should just fucking get over themselves.

Wolf is waiting for him just beyond the cameras and then he's letting go for the first time since the reaping and bursting into tears and flinging himself at his best friend. They just hold each other and Wolf doesn't say anything because he doesn't need to- he _understands_ \- and Athenodorus is eleven again and safe. And then he gets a sharp tap on the shoulder and an overly cheerful smile from the escort to tell him that he's expected in the Justice Building for tea and scones (pronounced sc-oh-nes) with the Mayor.

(Malc shows up, smashing on his door just a few days later, drunk off his face and sobbing his eyes out. Athenodorus is still fucked from the Games, hardly having slept for the past week and all he sees is loud, drunk man on his doorstep, a _threat_ , before Malc's on the ground with his lights punched out.)

(If anything that makes their reunion even easier, after all it's hard for Malc to apologise and try to take the blame when he can hardly see through his right eye.)

In the Eighth Hunger Games, he mentors the girl. She's young and brutal and long after she's gone he's haunted by her empty eyes and sardonic, bitter smile. He hates her but when she's slaughtered by the eventual Victor, he trashes four fancy rooms, gets drunk three nights in a row and almost kills Caiden, the shy Victor of the Fourth Games, in a fiery haze of fury.

Caiden (impressively, considering the bruised rib and possibly broken arm and the long scar across his cheek from his rings that he can hardly bear to look at) brushes it off casually and sits him down with Edison and Lysander. He rages a lot and cries a bit, but they don't speak, let alone scold him, which his own mentor would have done, and then, for all it's worth, they tell him it will get better. That it does get better. He knows even then that it doesn't. Not really.

It also takes him three years before he can even talk to that kid from 11. Even if he kind of reminds him of Malc in a weird, twisted way.

When he moves into the Victors' Village with Wolf, rumours start to fly, of course they do. And he supposes there is some truth to them, and perhaps he does love Wolf a bit, but not like that because Athenodorus is into girls and he isn't in love with his best friend quite in that sense.

The rumours only get worse when the meek little girl from Seven comes out bravely on the stage at her interview, and, then after she wins, when the Capitol bends to popular demand and brings in her girlfriend to broadcast their reunion to the whole of Panem.

In the end, Athenodorus has had enough and one day, on stage in front of Capitol escorts and his entire district, he grabs the front of Wolf's jacket and plants one hard on the mouth. When he pulls away, he turns to the cameras and grins.

"That what you fucking wanted?"

Wolf laughs hysterically the whole way home.

The novels and magazine articles and weird fiction practically write themselves, books flying off the shelves at a frankly quite alarming rate.

(Nobody seems to care that Wolf is actually engaged to a sweet girl from the poor end of Two, and Athenodorus has been disappearing off with the Mayor's niece for months now. Apparently shit like that doesn't sell quite as well as the forbidden love story between two guys from the gutters brought together by the glory of the Games.)

(Nobody seems to care that any love between them was definitely not brought about by the fucking Games, either.)

(And he definitely doesn't tell anyone, except perhaps Wolf, about the time he got drunk off his arse and and woke up in Edison Gates' bed the next morning. Not that it matters much to him anyway, it was just a drunken night and God knows he still likes women)

(Besides him and Eddie stayed friends for a long time after that. He was a good guy and he knew how to listen to him. And, as far Athenodorus knew, he'd never told anyone either.)

He supposes it could be worse. It's not like when he's growing up, and he since the Rebellion, people have better things to do than care who their neighbour goes to bed with. (He breathes a sigh of relief when Seven's admission on stage is met, not by horror but by raucous cheers and hysterical crowds. The first time he speaks to her, on her Victory Tour, he simply smiles and pats her shoulder in the least patronising way he can, which, in all fairness, is probably still pretty patronising.)

He gets his very own Victor when he's twenty-six. Lupus is stunning and charismatic and Athenodorus doesn't even have to try that hard for the sponsor donations to keep rolling in for all thirteen days of the Games and it's the best year he's had in forever because for the first time, he brings one home. It doesn't matter that Lupus is kind of an ass, and deep down, he's even more of an ass, and it doesn't matter that, after six months, something snaps inside Lupus' head and he seems to realise everything he's done, because Athenodorus tried his best and did a damn good job with that kid, and fuck if he's going to stop trying now.

He's the one who signs the official alliance agreement with One, just before the 18th Hunger Games, and he starts to train the kids in abandoned barns and back alleys he grew up in. They don't tell anyone and neither does he. Wolf doesn't speak to him for three weeks, but it's the best fucking decision he's ever made because being a Career is about saving some twelve year old kid from certain death and giving whoever does go in the best damn chance they've got of making it out alive, and that's pretty special.

(Wolf comes around when Athenodorus' volunteer steps up for a snivelling thirteen year old. She dies a painful and gruesome death on the end of a spear but then the girl she saved shows up at one of Athenodorus' training centres a few days later and he knows he's done the right thing. The young tribute she saved goes on to be one of Athenodorus' strongest students and, after flying through the 24th Games, one of the strongest Victors the district has ever produced.)

There's a few rocky years of uncertain alliances with Seven, but the tension is clear and when it ends one year with a swing of an axe and a head rolling almost comically down the mountain side, Athenodorus pulls the plug on any hope of a full Career Pack with the lumber district, and tries to get his tributes the fuck out. (Tiberius ignores him and makes the official offer anyway. He's met by a very resolute blank.)

Lupus is the one to first suggests Four. It's not the most obvious choice; Sevens are beasts with an axe in their hands and if you can bear training them up a bit, and even the Tens and Elevens are stronger and bigger and more powerful, but after twenty years and three Victors, even Athenodorus has to admit that the Fours must be doing something right.

He offers an alliance to Mags and Lysander and it's never as sure as the alliance with One but it's something and for decades, it holds.

Eventually, even those in Two who hate him begin to see the merit in his ideas. But as support for him grows in Two, the Outer Districts begin to hate him more and more. He knows it's fair. They don't have the resources to do the same with their tributes and so they lose so many of their own. But at the same time, he knows and they must know that they would do exactly the same if they could. So he would really appreciate it if they would stop the death threats.

(He always feels unwelcome in Nine. He thought they would've forgotten how he suffocated their boy with his bare hands when there wasn't enough sponsor money for a knife _and_ food, but then when he's there for Lupus' Victory Tour a man leaps out of the crowd to try to gets his hands around his neck and squeeze and Athenodorus just knows.)

When Wolf finds out about the threats, his friend completely ignores Athenodorus' pleas and throws the mother of all hissy fits, storms straight to the Justice Buiding and demands an audience with the Mayor. Unsurprisingly he's told to piss off and to stop wasting their time.

(The Peacekeepers are not big fans of either of them and the old guard at the door definitely remembers them as the little boys who were constantly in and out of the cells fifteen odd years ago.)

He's thirty-five when his older brother dies in a freak accident late at night in the masonry. With Athenodorus' Victor's salary Malc didn't need the money but he always insisted the routine brought him comfort. He was always the first one there in the morning and the last to leave at night and, when the under-trained exhausted girl checking the scaffolding had overlooked the loose ties, he was the one who had come crashing to the ground under a pile of rocks and beams.

It wasn't her fault. Not really, and Athenodorus knows that if it had happened three months, even a month earlier, people would have forgotten. But it happens two days before the announcement of the First Quarter Quell and when she's called forward, Athenodorus fights tooth and nail to bring her home but he's still mourning and the rest is just psychology.

He loses her despite his best efforts (and some things he'd done with various Capitol patrons just to pull together enough funds for sponsorships that he'd rather not remember) but Athenodorus does everything he can to make sure her mother and little brother live the best life they can.

After Malc's death, Wolf is the only one who still calls him Slate. When they're with others it's always Athenodorus, and Wolf keeps his distance and they sit properly and refrain from childish games of footsie under the table. But when they're alone it's uninhibited water fights in the fancy kitchen, and food fights in the dining room, and games in the garden, because even with the weight of twenty-three kids' lives on his shoulders, he refuses to let himself forget how to have fun.

(They try wrestling, once. Athenodorus just feels the adrenaline and the hand on his neck and suddenly he's lying in the master bedroom and it's nighttime and Wolf has a half bandaged cut on his cheek. They don't try wrestling again)

Wolf's girlfriend Amelia moves in with them when they're thirty-seven. Wolf takes her last name when they marry because he can't remember his own and the wedding is on a bright, summer day in September and Athenodorus gets drunk and cries as he watches his best friend take his new bride by the hand and lead her into their first dance.

She's cheerful and knows when to give him space and no one can ever be as close to him as Wolf but she comes pretty damn close. And she makes the house with its posh decorations and fancy wallpaper and furniture that could pay for food for his entire village for a year feel warm and comforting in a new way. And it's never perfect but they're never alone so they're always okay.

He doesn't think it was planned but it happened anyway and two years after they get married there's a tiny baby crying in a cot in the spare room. And Athenodorus' sleep terrors are now filled with images of the child he knows he can't save from the horrors of the games if they decide to take him. But maybe it's his victories with the tributes at the Training Centre or the smiles he puts on at the Capitol each year, he doesn't know, but they take it as a miracle when he's spared.

When Adonis' little brother was reaped for the 11th Hunger Games, not even the Capitol escort pretended like it wasn't a fix, and they all knew he was a walking target in the arena. Amasis had his older brother in the control room, calling in all his favours, he couldn't be trusted as an ally and would eat up all the sponsor money.

Everyone had their eyes on him as he put on his best show on stage, gushing about how he admired his brother, how glad he was to be given the honour of fighting in the games and how eager he was to share Adonis' glory. Everyone had their eyes on him as he was hunted down in the hours following the bloodbath and hacked into tiny pieces.

(In all the years Athenodorus had half-known Adonis, those were the Games he seemed most present in. The year he tried the hardest, cared the most. Having his brother in the arena to fight for brought a part of him back no one had seen in years. But when Amasis died, well, if Adonis' mind had been damaged before, it snapped clean in half that night and it was a testament to the Capitol doctors that they managed to salvage any part of him at all.)

Levis calls him Uncle Atheno and when he's seven and Athenodorus teaches him how to use a sword in the back garden until Wolf catches them and the following screaming match continues until Amelia comes out and tells them to stop yelling. Neither will have their son grow up in the shadow of the Games and Levis is seventeen before he's allowed to watch Uncle Atheno's year.

Athenodorus stays friends with his fellow Victors even after he stops training tribute and mentoring every year and his visits to the Capitol become fewer and further between. He still enjoys getting drunk with Edison Gates (though that night really was a one time thing), and he and Mags spend way too much time in that ridiculous restaurant (read bar) in the Capitol centre, carefully making their way down the overpriced menu and list of liqueurs.

(Their friendship gets more distant around the games. The worst time is the year her tributes turn on his most promising student in years, shattering the alliance within hours of the Bloodbath and drawing out his death for nearly half a day. It's not until he sees the piece of work that her Victor is face to face that he finally accepts that it wasn't her idea. He never quite gets over the sense of unease that Victor gives him.)

The decades following his games are full of days when he wakes up in layers of fluffy duvet and mounds of pillows and eats burnt toast in his pyjamas with Wolf and Amelia and Levis in the kitchen. Days when they go on walks through the streets of Two where he and Wolf grew up and buy sweets for Levis from the stores and feed the geese with Amelia's homebaked bread (which never tastes quite right).

Of course, there are always the bad days. The days when he doesn't leave his bed for hating himself and attacks the furniture and can hardly breathe because he knows that death is coming and he is _terrified_ of what he'll find waiting for him. The nights when he can't sleep because all he can see is blood spurting from the neck of a small boy from District 9 or Malc tumbling like a rag doll into a bottomless pit of granite or a girl he trained for years being cut down in an instant by the swing of an axe.

But he lives on, in his grand house with the warm glow of family and tulips in the front yard. And the bakery down the road and the ditzy brunette across the street who has to be reminded almost daily that, even though he always manages to show up at official events, Wolf never entered, let alone won, the Games. (And if Athenodorus wakes up screaming in the night, he got his room soundproofed years ago so no one is any the wiser).

It's a sad day for Athenodorus when Levis moves out of the house to attend college but no one cries harder than him when he graduates and takes on the role as head Peacekeeper in Two.

It comes as a shock when Amelia dies. Athenodorus is on his way to the Capitol when it happens, the first time he's mentored in almost a decade, and he hears it from a garishly dressed reporter shoving a microphone in his face before Wolf even has a chance to call. He blames himself, of course he does, says that he should have noticed the signs sooner and he gets a desperate phone call two days into the Games at three in the morning and he can _hear_ Wolf breaking down.

The desperation in Wolf's voice combined with his own heartbreak becomes too much so he leaves his tribute in Victoria's hands, barks at Tiberius to watch her, and gets the first train back to Two so he can bring his friend to one of the quiet alleyways they used used to sleep in, decades ago, where he can break things in peace. They get drunk that night, ridiculously, black-out drunk and Athenodorus can't remember anything except the pounding in his head and the taste of gravel.

(Leaving the Capitol turned out to be a terrible, terrible mistake. Brutus was a strong, well-trained tribute and an even better Victor, but it was only his second year mentoring and when Athenodorus stumbles into the Control Room the next morning, after the gruelling train journey back, he Brutus is staring blankly at the vital screens, surrounded by smashed bottles and the alliance is broken and his tribute is bleeding out on the forest floor. Tiberius is nowhere to be seen, the bastard, and Brutus doesn't mentor for a few years after that.)

(Even though Athenodorus couldn't have let Wolf deal with losing Amelia alone, he spends many sleepless nights wondering if leaving that day really was the right decision)

He hasn't mentored for years by the time he falls sick just before the Reaping for the 62nd Games. It's a nasty, rasping throat infection that the antibiotics the Capitol doctors give him don't even seem to touch. He's gone days after the Victory Tour.

There are crowds outside, not for him, but for the new, pretty Victor, who ripped out her allies' throats with her teeth and who took three different pills for PTSD before going to see her district. He couldn't help thinking it was almost a shame. She could have been sweet if she was born in Twelve. (She'd also probably be dead. That's the only part that makes this whole thing okay.)

"What difference would it have made if I hadn't volunteered?" he rasps out, clutching at Wolf's hand as he sobs quietly, finally voicing the question he's been too afraid to ask for decades.

"You know," whispers Wolf, clutching his clammy palms tightly, "Panem would be a far darker place, Slate. And I think you must be the only Victor I could say that about."

AN: We're so sorry this update has been so long (I don't even want to look at when the last chapter was posted) but basically we got writers block on this one Victor and lost motivation so we've left him (hopefully we'll come back to him later) and so here's Athenodorus instead. We hope you enjoy and fingers crossed the next update isn't as long as this one. Xx


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